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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952229">wreck my plans</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16'>SimplyShelbs16</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Romance, Slow Burn, WILL THESE TWO JUST GET A GRIP PLEASE, well sorta</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:42:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>25,911</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28952229</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimplyShelbs16/pseuds/SimplyShelbs16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>S3 Canon Divergence AU. After their day of solving crimes, Molly Hooper has a lot to think about. Grappling with her love for Sherlock and her determination to keep the life she built with Tom whilst the detective was gone, she knows she's going to have to make a tough decision. Sherlock Holmes, heartbroken and unsure of what to do struggles to keep his distance when all he wants is to have her close.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Molly Hooper/Tom, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>114</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. promised to another</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based off 3 Taylor Swift songs from her album, evermore: ivy, champagne problems, and willow.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                  Engaged. Of course she was. He now faced the reality that every single person in his life had moved on. Sherlock had tried to act as if he didn’t notice her ring, but he knew she’d know he was choosing to ignore it. As he spoke to her in the stairwell, it took everything in him not to reach out and hold her hand—the one she had promised to another man.</p><p>
  <em>                  "Maybe it’s just my type.”</em>
</p><p>                  Her words rang in his head as he tried to get some sleep. It had taken so much of his resolve not to stop in his tracks at her words—he hadn’t wanted to let her know he heard them. Sherlock couldn’t help but picture what would’ve happened had he turned back. There would’ve been no stopping him from pressing his lips to hers, wrapping her tightly in his arms. It was so much easier to imagine now after two excruciatingly long years. More often than not, the idea of sweeping Molly Hooper off her feet when he returned kept him from dying. There had been so many brushes with death, but every single time, it was thoughts of her that kept him going, silently promising to return to her one day.</p><p>                  One more pinprick in his already broken heart, Molly hadn’t followed him down the street, or shouted “Wait!” like they did in the films. Chips, extra portions; the loneliness swallowed him up as he imagined her having taken him up on his offer. A part of him had hoped she’d choose him the way she always used to, but Molly wasn’t the same woman she once was. Of course, he wanted her to be happy, even if it meant he wasn’t the one to make her so, but his heart ached with the knowledge that he had missed his chance with her long ago. If only he had asked her to wait for him; if only he had kissed her before he left for two years. Sherlock groaned in frustration. It would do no good for him to keep wondering ‘what if.’ All it did was torture his already broken heart.</p><p><em>                 “Caring is not an advantage.” </em>Mycroft’s words cut through him like a knife, willing him to shut down, to shut out his feelings completely. “Oh, please, do shut up!” Sherlock shouted , his fist colliding with the pillow. These words continued to echo through his mind, keeping him from a moment’s peace. He briefly thought of their game earlier in the day. <em>“Can’t handle a broken heart—how telling,” </em>he had teased his big brother, but as it turned out, neither could he.  </p><p>                How did people do this? How did they fix their hearts and go on with their lives? What he wouldn’t do for a cigarette right now. He conceded, realising that trying to sleep would be futile. Throwing back his duvet, Sherlock got out of bed and struggled with his blue dressing gown as he stormed into the sitting room. He reached out for his violin, allowing the notes, however mournful, wash over him. Maybe if he could get her out of his system musically, all would be well again.</p><hr/><p>                All was not well. Molly couldn’t stop replaying how close Sherlock came to kissing her—a true, proper kiss. She mentally cursed her engagement ring, the weight of it now as heavy as her heart. Tom was kind, thoughtful. He walked into her life during a time she needed it most. He was outgoing enough to not be completely boring, but also enjoyed staying in some nights, just the two of them. Getting engaged three months ago—it had been easy. She had felt her life was finally falling into place. It was becoming, piece by piece, a perfectly solved puzzle. Doubt began to set in a couple months after, but it had been easy to ignore, though it did form a knot in her stomach. Then Sherlock—frustrating, intoxicating man that he is—crashed into her life again, pointing out that some of the pieces didn’t fit together, and that knot in her stomach became twisted and gnarled.</p><p>                Molly’s mind wandered.<em> “…was the one person that mattered most.” </em> Only Sherlock could orchestrate words as deftly as he does music. She craved an explanation of his ambiguous wording. <em>Tell me, Sherlock. In what way do I matter most to you? For your work? For what I did to fool Moriarty? Or…possibly…</em> She couldn’t think that. Could she matter to him in such an intimate way? <em>Yes,</em> she decided. It had been easy to see, even more so now. His sad eyes, the wistful smile that told her he was happy for her but it killed him to let her go—it wasn’t an illusion. He felt something for her.</p><p>                But no. She shook her head, chastising herself for such foolish thoughts. Of course he meant Moriarty. She refused to let her mind wander down the road of wishful thinking—it would do nothing but make trouble for herself.</p><p>                “Molls? You home?”</p><p>                Composing herself, she put on her best smile and berated herself sternly in her head as she appeared out from her bedroom to greet Tom. She kissed his cheek and he caught her lips chastely. “How was work?”</p><p>                “Not too bad—there’s a chance for a promotion soon. We have this big project coming up too. I’ll probably have to work overtime some nights, but it’s worth it,” he assured her. “How was your day off?”</p><p>                She sucked in a breath, holding it a bit longer than necessary. “It was…uneventful.” Molly frowned. Why couldn’t she tell him she spent the day solving crimes with Sherlock? <em>Because it was much more than that</em>, her inner voice teased. “Shut up,” she muttered.</p><p>                Tom furrowed his brows. “Everything alright, Molls?”</p><p>                “Oh, fine, just tired,” she told him. At least it wasn’t a lie. The emotional turmoil inside her had taken its toll on her. This wasn’t going to get any easier. But then it did when Tom joined her in bed. Once the shock of Sherlock’s return wore off, Molly was sure her mess of emotions would simmer down. At least, she hoped so.</p><hr/><p>                221B was lively again, a small gathering of the people he cared for—and who cared for him back—were drinking and talking amongst themselves. Sherlock was pleased to hear Mycroft was suffering through Les Mis with their parents, and hung up the phone.</p><p>                “Come on, you’ll have to go down, they want the story.” John stood outside Sherlock’s bedroom.</p><p>                “In a minute,” he replied, walking past him.</p><p>                When he rejoined the rest of his friends, he couldn’t help but notice that Molly was nowhere to be found. He had texted an invite to her, but she never replied. Perhaps it was for the best. She deserved to be happy and he knew he would only ruin it.</p><p>                Mrs. Hudson was chatting with Mary about the upcoming wedding, already setting the date for some time in May. He briefly wondered if Molly had set a date for her wedding. The thought made his heart ache.</p><p>                “You will be there, Sherlock?” Mary asked pointedly.</p><p>                He walked towards the windows. “Weddings, not really my thing.” He threw in a playful wink for good measure. And then he heard her voice.</p><p>                “Hello everyone!”</p><p>                “Hello, Molly,” John greeted her back.</p><p>                “I would’ve brought Tom along, but he got hung up at work,” she explained.</p><p><em>                Ah</em>, Sherlock thought, <em>the fiancé</em>.</p><p>                “Ready?” John asked.</p><p>                “Ready.” Sherlock finally willed himself to turn around, making his way toward the door. He made sure to flash a warm smile Molly’s way. She smiled back, her eyes locking with his briefly.</p><p>                Greg offered her champagne and she accepted happily.</p><p>                Sherlock was reluctant to leave, but he had to meet the press so they’d stop hounding poor Mrs. Hudson.</p><p>                Mary Morstan was an observant woman. The exchange she saw between Sherlock and Molly told her everything she needed to know. “So, Molly, dear, let’s talk. All I know is you helped Sherlock in his darkest hour. Have you and your Tom set a date yet?”</p><p>               “Oh, goodness no, we haven’t quite decided on that yet,” Molly laughed nervously moving to sit beside Mary. “You and John will probably be married before we are.”</p><p>               Lowering her voice, Mary turned serious. “It’s alright if you’re having second thoughts.” She held a hand up when Molly started to protest. “Seriously, if you need someone to talk to, you can phone me anytime.”</p><p>               “I—“ Molly began, “okay. Thank you, Mary.” She felt it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have someone she could speak to about these things without judgment. This woman had picked up on her hesitations, and, quite possibly, her feelings for Sherlock she was sure would go away once the dust settled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. how's one to know?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                   Molly let out a heavy breath, inspecting the mess before her. Test tubes, beakers, and several other pieces of equipment needed cleaning. She snapped on a pair of latex gloves when the door swung open, Sherlock commanding the room as he always did with his coat billowing out from behind him. Bringing a hand up to hide her mouth, she stifled a giggle. It was almost as if he were a child playing dress-up, pretending to be a superhero.</p><p>                  When his opal eyes landed on her, a joyous expression lit up his face. “Molly, just the woman I needed to see.”</p><p><em>                 Uh oh</em>, her mind screamed.</p><p>                 “I was wondering if you’d be interested in a little experiment I’m running,” he explained, hoping she’d take his offer.</p><p>                 Molly sighed. “I’d love to, Sherlock, really, but I need to get all this cleaned up, and I can’t have you dirtying any more of the equipment right now.”</p><p>                 Sherlock stepped closer toward her, hardly any space between them. God, it was like the night he asked her for help with faking his death. He lowered his voice, speaking softly to her. “How about this? Let me help you clean up, and maybe you’d be more amenable to working on it with me another time? I could really use your expertise.”</p><p>                 She thought about it for a moment. It was so bloody difficult to think with her heart hammering away in her chest, his familiar scent of tea, spice and wood smoke washing over her. But, honestly, what was there to think about? He had offered to help her with the cleaning—it wouldn’t take nearly as long now. “I’d like that,” she finally answered, coming out a bit breathless. “Thank you.”</p><p><em>                God</em>, she thought, <em>get it together</em>.</p><p>                “Excellent,” he grinned happily. Sherlock grabbed a pair of gloves for himself, and they immediately got to work. It had only been a few days since they last saw one another, but he felt as if it had been weeks. One corner of his lips turned up into a crooked smile when he glanced over at Molly, her face scrunched up adorably as she tried to scrub out a particularly difficult stain. They continued like that in comfortable silence, perfectly content with one another's company. He had missed her terribly, ever so grateful that, if anything, they could still be friends.</p><p>                “How’ve you been, Sherlock? I’m afraid with all of the chaos, I never got a chance to ask you. Are you settling back in alright?” Molly went to grab a test tube off the counter only for her hand to collide with his.</p><p>                “It’s all yours,” he chuckled lightly, taking a beaker instead. “As for settling in…it’s been easy throwing myself into work again. As for all the changes in my personal life, including changes with you and John—it’s been a bit jarring actually.” Sherlock couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. He felt he could share these things with her, but was it actually a good idea to do so?</p><p>                Molly set down the test tube. “You know,” she began hesitantly, “just because John and I are engaged doesn’t mean we’re going to stop being in your life.”</p><p>                “You might want to rephrase that,” he told her, amused at the very thought. “I think Tom and Mary ought to know what their future spouses are getting up to.”</p><p>                She laughed and swatted at his arm playfully. “You know what I mean.” When their laughter died down, Molly tried to get her point across firmly this time. “I’m serious, Sherlock. You’re not going to lose either of us. Granted, I can’t speak for John, but you’ll always have me. Okay?”</p><p>                “Okay,” he replied, confirming he understood. It was a sweet gesture on her part, but somehow, it made the ache worse than before, his heartstrings feeling as if they’d been pulled taut, ready to snap. The overwhelming need to give more of himself to her took control of him. “And Molly?”</p><p>                “Hmm?” she asked, her eyes meeting his once more. Suddenly, sitting beside each other was too much for her to handle, but somehow, she remained cool on the outside.</p><p>                Sherlock loved her big brown eyes, dark and beautiful. He loved how they always seemed to sparkle when she looked at him. “You’ll always have me too. I hope you know I’d do anything for you.”</p><p>                Molly’s eyes fluttered in surprise. “Oh, Sher—“</p><p>                The door swung open, a man about Sherlock’s height strolled right in—dirty blonde curls, pressed black trousers, grey wool coat. “Molls,” he exclaimed, “I’ve got great news!”</p><p>                Sherlock frowned as Molly got up to greet the intruder. It was the fiancé. <em>Youngest child, idealist, average intelligence, yielding, boring</em>. He felt he was going to be sick. <em>This </em>is the kind of man she wants to marry? He was Sherlock’s opposite in almost every way. Defeated, he finished cleaning the last test tube, set it aside on the towel to dry, and got up to leave.</p><p>                “You got the promotion? That’s wonderful, Tom!” She leaned in for a chaste kiss. “You know, we could—Sherlock? Where are you going? I’d like to introduce you.”</p><p>                He cursed under his breath. Why ever did he think he could leave undetected? Molly always noticed him. It was irritating at times. Fake smile in place, he turned toward the happy couple. “Apologies, I just thought you two would like some privacy. Sherlock Holmes.” He extended his hand toward Tom.</p><p>                “Tom Beech,” he shook Sherlock’s hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Molly’s told me about some of the cases she’s worked with you on. Brilliant stuff.”</p><p>                “Yes, well, I couldn’t very well do it without her, now could I?” Sherlock flashed a genuine smile toward Molly. “I’ll leave you two to make plans—I need to head home anyways.” His heart felt as if someone reached inside his chest cavity and squeezed it without mercy.</p><p>                “Oh,” she said, disheartened, the smile disappearing from her face. “Well, thank you, Sherlock, for your help.”</p><p>                “Not a problem, Molly.” He knew he was gonna have a hell of a time trying to get over the loss of his chance with her.</p><hr/><p>                B<em>ang. Bang. Bang. </em>Shots were fired into the wall. Sherlock set the gun aside, huffing as he flopped down in his chair, dressing gown open over his pajamas. How could he be so foolish? He actually thought that if given the chance, Molly Hooper would fall right back into his arms. The kind of man he was—that wasn’t what she wanted. Not anymore. It was made quite clear with the kind of man she agreed to marry. She wanted normalcy, not some arrogant crime-solving addict who had a myriad of bad habits and a tendency to lash out with his deductions. That wasn’t the kind of man who deserved her.</p><p>                Dejected, he decided to dive into his mind palace. Molly seemed to be everywhere in his mind these days. He conjured up the memory of staying at her flat the night before he left London after the fall. They both slept in her bed, pillows between them. Sherlock settled in, willing the memory to morph into what he had wished happened.</p><p>
  <em>                He tossed the extra pillows separating them onto the floor. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 "Sherlock, wha—“ Molly attempted to ask, but was too stunned to finish her sentence as he pulled her closer.</em>
</p><p><em>                 Face to face, noses touching, his hand positioned at the back of her head, Sherlock leaned in, kissing her deeply. She brushed her lips in tandem with his, moaning when he slid his tongue against hers. Sherlock slid his hand down to the small of her back, pushing her closer until their bodies were pressed together. She traced the seam of his lips with the tip of her tongue slowly, teasing him. “Oh, Molly,” he whispered in the dark, kissing his way down her throat. She buried her fingers in his curls, making him groan against her skin.</em>  </p><p>
  <em>                 “Sherlock…” she gasped, eager when he reclaimed her mouth. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 "Sherlock…”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 "</em>
  <em>Sherlock…”</em>
</p><p>                 “Sherlock!”</p><p>                 He was jostled out of his fantasy by an extremely concerned John Watson.  “Christ!” he shouted, scrambling to close his dressing gown, hiding the evidence of his fantasy. “Doesn’t anyone knock anymore?”</p><p>                 “I did, actually,” John corrected him. “Not my fault you didn’t bloody hear it.”</p><p>                 Sherlock huffed in annoyance. “If nobody answers, perhaps that is a sign to not barge in.”</p><p>                 “Oh no,” John began, pointing an accusatory finger at his friend. “Mrs. Hudson practically jumped at me when I got here, concerned about the gun shots she heard from your flat. Of course, I was going to barge in!”</p><p>                 “Well, as you can see, I’m fine, now please, for the love of God, leave,” Sherlock snapped. He wasn’t trying to be an arsehole, but the aching pain he felt was making him irritable. Briefly, he thought he should come with a warning label when he’s in a mood.</p><p>                  John shook his head in defiance and took a seat in his usual chair. “You don’t shoot up the flat for no reason—you always have a reason. What is it this time?”</p><p>                  No answer, just the tightening of his friend’s jaw as he looked away, watching the flames dance.</p><p>                  “Dammit, Sherlock, I am here as your friend—who is concerned about you by the way. What’s going on with you?” John wasn’t backing down, and Sherlock knew there’d be no point in arguing with him.</p><p>                  Not wanting to be specific about his issue, Sherlock worded things carefully. “Have you ever made a huge mistake? One that you ended up regretting when it was already too late to fix it?”</p><p>                  This wasn’t what John had expected. He sat back comfortably. “I’ve regretted a lot of things, yeah, but in my experience, when I thought it was too late, it rarely ever was. Why? What’s this about?” His question was met with silence again. He sighed. “Look, mate, the best I can tell you is to not give up.”</p><p>                  “But what if giving up is the honorable thing to do? I can’t be selfish with this person,” Sherlock confessed.</p><p>                  Realisation smacked John in the face. “This is about a woman. Not I—” </p><p>                  With a roll of his eyes, Sherlock grumbled, “This is not about Irene Adler—she’s irrelevant. Will you please stay focused?”</p><p>                  “If you’re not going to tell me who this woman is, can you at least tell me why you think you should just let her go?” John questioned him with his words and his eyes. “What makes you think it would be selfish to tell her how you—“</p><p>                  He took a deep breath. To answer that, he’d have to reveal her identity. “It’s Molly.”</p><p>                  “—feel,” John finished in surprise. Then skepticism crossed his features. “Molly Hooper?”</p><p>                  “Yes,” Sherlock drawled out. “Why is that so hard to believe?”</p><p>                  Sarcasm lacing his voice, he replied, “Gee, I dunno, Sherlock. The girl had it bad for you until you shattered that during the Christmas party the one year. Why now?”</p><p>                  “This isn’t just a sudden thing,” Sherlock told him. “I didn’t realise how I felt until I thought about how I may never see her again. I could take down the network, but there was a chance that I’d lose my life doing it. I never stopped thinking about her—not once.”</p><p>                  John’s brows shot up. “Well, that is…not what I expected. Do you love her?”</p><p>                  “Of course I do. My intentions are honorable, John, there isn’t any ulterior motive if that’s what you’re insinuating.” Sherlock was angry—more with himself than anyone else—that he was perceived as a total manipulative bastard. He used to be, but that’s not the man he was now, and sometimes he wished his friends could see that.</p><p>                  Taken aback by the pain that laced Sherlock’s voice, John took a moment to tell himself that his friend had changed over the past two years. The man before him was not the exact same man he once knew. “For the record, I don’t think it’s too late. It might be a good thing to tell her how you feel or show her—within reason, of course. Think you can do that?”</p><p>                  Feeling trepidatious, Sherlock wasn’t so sure he <em>could</em> do it. Risking his heart like that—it was unnatural. Love was a dangerous game—that much was clear. Then again, he had helped her with a tedious task at the lab; not to convince her to choose him, but because he genuinely wanted to lessen her burden. “It has to be on her terms, not on mine. I value her friendship too much. I can’t lose that.”</p><p>                  John’s mouth fell open, dumbfounded. “Why did you bother asking <em>me</em> for advice? It sounds like you’ve got this stuff figured out better than I do.”</p><p>                  Sherlock was surprised at himself as well. “Maybe I just needed someone to talk to.” He allowed himself the smallest flicker of hope igniting in his heart. Maybe it wasn’t too late.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sherlock finally met Tom. I think it's safe to say he isn't thrilled about it lol. What do you think Sherlock should do?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. putting roots in my dreamland</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>                 “I hope you’ll be very happy, Molly Hooper. You deserve it.” His low, rumbling voice had her quivering. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them. All she could do was stand there, watching his every move, every expression on his face. Sherlock offered a sort of wistful smile—it damn near broke her heart and shook her to her core. He leaned down slowly, and she braced herself for the kiss on the cheek that would have her wondering ‘what if’ for months. Molly hadn’t been prepared for what did happen, a small gasp escaping her.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                His lips tenderly caressed hers, eliciting from her a soft sigh. Sherlock brought his fingers to her face, his feather light touch bringing forth an incandescent glow. Nothing else mattered to her in that moment. Molly tilted her head just enough to deepen the kiss, tongues meeting for the first time, sparking the desirable warmth that pooled in her lower belly. “Sherlock,” she whispered, “I—“</em>
</p><p>Molly scrambled to sit up, gasping loudly. She looked over to Tom sleeping at the other side of the bed. Relieved she hadn’t woken him—if only to not have to explain herself—Molly carefully got out of bed and slipped out the door. She made her way into the kitchen, the time on the oven read four-twenty six in the morning. There would be no going back to sleep after the dream she had. Before she allowed herself to think too much about it, she started the coffeemaker in a desperate need for caffeine.</p><p>                Whilst it brewed, Molly sat herself on the sofa, leaning forward to bury her head in her hands. Being left alone with her thoughts wasn’t the best thing for her at the moment, but she couldn’t help herself. The dream had been so vivid, almost as if it were a memory, the ghost of his kiss still felt upon her lips. Sherlock Holmes climbed into her thoughts like English ivy, up the stone walls around her mind until it was filled with him, rooted firmly in place. It’s not as if she never thought about him whilst he had been gone, but why was it suffocating her now?</p><p>                She wrestled around with these thoughts, unsure of what to do. Her heart was unsteady—a dam on the verge of bursting. What rot the timing was. The tears that began welling up in her eyes were held back. She couldn’t allow herself to fall apart. Not now.</p><p>                Before trying to put the issue to bed, Molly allowed herself another moment spent on the flood of memories they had made together; <em>Sherlock admiring her with his eyes when she said something clever, sending a thrill through her; the little offhand, but not always so kind, comments pertaining to her hair, her lips, her weight, her breasts; him, telling her he needed her in his darkest hour, his pupils dilated; his chaste kiss upon her cheek at Christmas after apologising for hurting her, and the lingering press of his lips close to the corner of her mouth in the stairwell, both of them heartbroken; the way he held her close in his arms when he popped back into her life in the locker room at Bart’s; laughter in the lab as they made jokes; nights spent at her flat with takeaway and crime documentaries.</em></p><p>                Her thoughts drifted to what he told her in the lab. She’d always have him, he said. He’d do anything for her. Where had that come from? His words haunted her, her heart whispering with each beat that he loved her, but her mind swooped in to tell her there’s no way it could be true. If the man ever allowed himself to fall in love, it surely wouldn’t be with her.</p><p>                Molly allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek in mourning for the love they could have had if the timing had been right. Now she loved Tom. At least that's what she told herself. The coffee had finished brewing moments ago. Heart heavy with regret, she wiped the stain of her heartache off her face in an effort to face her new reality with a renewed strength. She got up to pour herself some coffee, adding in just the right amount of sugar. With the pounding headache she now had, Molly hadn’t been aware of Tom until he was grabbing a cup himself.</p><p>                “You’re up early,” he remarked. “Bad dream?”</p><p>                “Something like that,” Molly replied. And that was it. That was the most concern Tom ever showed. He liked to have things be simple, and in her desire to keep things easy, she allowed him to have that. But, right now, at this ungodly hour, she wanted more. “Do you ever feel there’s this huge part of your life that seems like a blur? Like, you don’t even understand why you’re in your current situation?”</p><p>                “Not…really?” Tom looked at her as if she was insane. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Molls?”</p><p>                “Just answer the question!” she snapped, sick of him avoiding important conversations. It’s all he ever did since they first got together. For a little over a year, she resigned herself to the fact he just wasn’t good at expressing himself, but she wanted him to at least try.</p><p>                He looked shocked. They never fought, and she hardly ever raised her voice at him. “Calm down, Molly. Look, I guess Uni was a blur, but it never landed me in a situation I regret or one I don’t understand. I can’t help you with your existential crisis, I’m sorry.”</p><p>                They finished their coffee in silence, and Tom headed out to the living room to watch some telly. In a fit of annoyance, Molly stomped off to the bedroom, adamant about trying to get more sleep despite all the caffeine she had in her system. She found it didn’t take much. In fact, she realised she slept better without him.</p><hr/><p>The past two days had been filled with a few relatively simple cases… too simple for his liking, but it was something. As he walked toward the lab, a contented sigh left him. He and Molly were supposed to be starting his experiment today which was sure to alleviate his boredom, though he couldn’t deny the warmth he felt at the thought of spending more time with her. Pushing the doors open wide, Sherlock took an almost startled step back at the man before him.</p><p>                “Who are you?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed and a frown on his face.</p><p>                The man adjusted his glasses. “Ah, I heard you’d probably be coming in today. Theodore Burton, at your service.” He stuck out his hand. Realising that Sherlock wasn’t going to reciprocate, he lowered it awkwardly.</p><p>                Something felt amiss to Sherlock. Why wasn’t she here? “Where’s Doctor Hooper?”</p><p>                Doctor Burton gulped, intimidated by the consulting detective. “She, uh, took the week off…sir.”</p><p>                Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but thought better of it. “I see.” It was all he could think to say in the moment. He gave Doctor Burton an apologetic smile and left, feeling like he couldn’t get out of there fast enough. <em>Was she okay? Did something happen?</em>  Those thoughts continued to bounce around his mind, his chest constricting too tightly. It was unlike her to not let him know if she would be at work, especially when they had plans for an experiment.  </p><p>                Perhaps it was all a big misunderstanding and she simply forgot to let him know. Yes, that’s what he chose to believe. It was going on six in the evening, so Sherlock called a cab. He stopped to grab takeaway from that new restaurant he remembered she wanted to try, and then proceeded to tell the cabbie Molly’s address. Taking a reassuring breath, Sherlock knocked on her door. He heard a bit of a commotion, but thought nothing of it. The door swung open, Tom on the other side of it in nothing but his boxers, making for awkward timing.</p><p>                “Hi…Sherlock…” Tom trailed off.</p><p>                “I just brought this over for Molly. I—I wanted to…” His eyes caught sight of her, haphazardly covered in a bed sheet, peeking out from the doorway to her bedroom, eyes wide, hair tousled, and her lips swollen.</p><p>                Molly had never felt so embarrassed in her life. The universe was having a laugh at her expense. This is what she got for using sex as a way to keep her mind off of things. Too bad it hadn’t been working. She would’ve been grateful for the interruption had it not been Sherlock finding her in such a state.</p><p>                In his obvious discomfort, Sherlock shoved the bag of takeaway into Tom’s hands. “Sorry to bother you.” He scrambled onto the street, disappearing as quickly as possible and called another cab to take him back home. The ride back was dreadful, feeling as if he were dying. It was one thing to know and acknowledge that she was engaged, but the image of Molly—his Molly—having just been in the throes of passion with a man that wasn’t him…it was more than his heart could take. It really was too late.</p><p>                Sherlock berated himself for having any hope in the first place. What had he expected? That she’d fall into his arms and abandon the man she had agreed to marry? What a preposterous notion. Maybe that happened in the films, but this was reality, and it was hardly ever so kind. Jesus, he felt he was going to vomit as the moment continued to replay in his head. He had always imagined, after having made love to her in his mind several times, how she would look in such a state. That wasn’t the way he had wanted to find out. Never did he crave a cigarette more than he did in this moment. He fought the urge to go out in search of something more mind-numbing. Despite the unbearable pain, he still wanted to be the man she deserved, to not disappoint her—or himself, for that matter.</p><p>                Storming into his bedroom, he threw open the drawer in his nightstand, hoping he could at least find nicotine patches. As he dug through, his fingers skimmed over something smooth. Grabbing it, he pulled it out and his breath caught in his throat at the sight of it. It was the gift Molly had brought for him on that disastrous Christmas Eve. He never opened it, though he hadn’t a clue why. Perhaps he felt undeserving of it after the things he had said to her in a fit of jealousy. Of course, he hadn’t meant any of what he said—it was the only time he had ever lied to her.</p><p>                <em>“Obviously trying to compensate for the size of her mouth and breasts…”</em></p><p>Recalling that horrendous statement, Sherlock gave an involuntary shudder. He felt awful the moment the words left his mouth, and worse still when he realised he’d been jealous over nothing. His mind drifted elsewhere, imagining her lips on his, nothing inadequate about them. And her breasts—<em>they’re lovely</em>, he thought. Nothing about her needed compensating. She was perfect in his eyes. When she threw her arms around him in the locker room, seeing each other for the first time in two years, Sherlock hadn’t been able to help thinking about how well their bodies fit together. If he didn’t stop thinking about her, he was going to need a cold shower.</p><p>                Looking down at the mysterious gift in his hands, he decided to open it after all. For all he knew, it could be the last thing he’d ever have of her. Carefully, he pulled at the ribbon and set it aside, moving on to the red wrapping paper. Turning it over, he couldn’t help the small bittersweet smile that arose on his face. It was a book on beekeeping and how to properly care for apiaries. She must have gotten the idea when he mentioned his interest in it in passing. He opened the cover, and on the title page, Molly had written a short note.</p><p>                <strong>Dearest Sherlock,</strong></p><p>
  <strong>                I saw this and thought of you. You once spoke with great passion about retiring to the countryside one day to keep bees. I hope this gets you a little further along to achieving that dream. I personally think it sounds lovely. Merry Christmas! </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                With love, Molly xxx</strong>
</p><p>He thought it funny, though it never occurred to him before, that he no longer wanted that future unless she would be a part of it. Still, he knew sleep would not come to him that night. Instead, he eagerly began to devour the book she had gifted him. He did, however, drift off eventually, holding the book close to his chest.</p><hr/><p>                He was giving up. As much as he didn’t want to, he was going to put space between him and Molly. It was the right thing to do. He eventually gave in and performed his experiment on his own, making sure to do it when she wasn’t at work. Sherlock hadn’t needed her expertise for it exactly, but he knew she found his experiments interesting, and he liked to spend time with her. It felt empty at Bart’s without her—his home away from home was now unrecognizable. If he could have a full working chem lab in 221A, he would, but Mrs. Hudson forbade it. “<em>Buzzkill</em>,” he had responded.</p><p>                Sherlock felt the loss of her deep in his bones. Her lively spirit was gone from his life, leaving him to grieve her absence. He had no one to blame but himself. <em>You’re doing this for her happiness</em>, he reminded himself. She deserved to be with someone who was better for her than the likes of him. His dark to her light; it could never be.</p><p>                Just yesterday he had spotted her with Tom at Angelo’s through the window as he passed by. Angelo himself was at their table, chatting with them. Sherlock had stopped for just a moment, taking in the beauty of her smile, the way she threw her head back when she laughed. There was something missing though. There was no sparkle in her eyes. It was always there when they were spending time with one another, and it prided him to know it was only meant for him.</p><p>                Presently, he was scrolling through his emails for interesting cases. He had half a mind to take any case just to distract himself from the pain. Anything was better than nothing.</p><p>                “Knock knock,” Mary Morstan smiled brightly. And then she noticed his crestfallen expression. “Alright, grumpy, what’s got you down?”</p><p>                “Didn’t John tell you? You know how he can’t keep a secret to save his life,” Sherlock joked.</p><p>                She rolled her eyes. “He did, but you should give me more credit than that. I knew from the moment I first saw you two in the same room together. This room, actually.” Mary flopped down the sofa.</p><p>                “Where is John?” he asked her, his eyes focused on the computer screen.</p><p>                “Surgery,” she answered. “I left early to start shopping around for things to put on the registry. A bit early I suppose, but thought I’d do something productive. Do you know when Molly’s wedding is?”</p><p>                He blinked several times, clearly shaken by the question posed to him. “She never said.”</p><p>                “Or you never asked.” Silence on his end. Mary bit her lip, a mischievous look on her face. “They haven’t set a date, you know.”</p><p>                This <em>was</em> news to Sherlock. He looked up at Mary, curiosity in his eyes. “Is that so? They’ve been engaged longer than you and John have.”</p><p>                “Mhm,” Mary smiled. “Trouble in paradise?”</p><p>                Sherlock frowned. “I’m not a gossip-monger. I wouldn’t wish for Molly to be unhappy either. Besides, it doesn’t matter. I’m distancing myself—I have to for her sake even if she doesn’t see it herself.”</p><p>                “Oh, you’ve got it bad, luv,” she said in amusement.</p><p>                “Oh, sod off,” he smirked.</p><hr/><p>                Three dreadfully boring weeks had passed. Molly watched as the clock ticked on in her office. She hadn’t seen or heard from Sherlock since he tried to bring her takeaway. Her face flushed at the memory of it, but mostly, she was sad. The look on his face, twisted with the kind of pain she felt in letting him go, broke her heart. He had cancelled their plans to do the experiment. Along with that, he avoided the morgue too. Molly had tried to shake it off, tried to get him out of her head.</p><p>                She laughed dryly. The more she fought it, the harder it was to ignore it. Every now and then, she found herself only half-listening to Tom when he went on about work, and instead, ended up thinking about Sherlock. His opal eyes were all she wished to see. He never left her thoughts, not even when she and Tom were being intimate, which was rare nowadays. If anything, it had gotten worse. There was a third person in their relationship, their bed, and the worst part of it all is her fiancé was absolutely clueless.</p><p>                In an effort to fill the gaping wound in her life, Molly had begun attempting to joke around with Tom the way she did with Sherlock, hoping it would give her the same enjoyment. He didn’t understand some of the more complicated scientific ones, which, she supposed, was to be expected. When they talked about their days at dinner, instead of her usual ‘it was fine’ or ‘could’ve been better,’ Molly would share detailed accounts of the autopsies she performed. This had been looked down upon, mostly because it was almost always when they ate dinner. The one time last week, she had mentioned, whilst consumed by wanderlust, that she’d like to make it a habit to take holidays in order to travel and find new adventures. “<em>We’ll travel on our honeymoon</em>,” Tom had tried to reason with her. Or the more discouraging, <em>“What’s wrong with London?”</em></p><p>                She groaned in frustration, burying her head in her arms at her desk. Molly wanted something exciting to happen. Crime solving with Sherlock had reminded her of what she was missing during the two years he was gone, and now Molly craved it even more knowing he was where he always was: Baker Street.</p><p>                But no, it couldn’t happen again. The last time they went crime solving together, there was quite a bit of flirting, especially on her part. Now, Sherlock was avoiding her like a plague and she was going to marry Tom. <em>But when?</em> Molly shook the question out of her head. It didn’t matter when. This was just a test of her will, and damn it, she wasn’t going to throw her new life away. Briefly, she considered taking up Mary on her offer to talk. Maybe that would clear her head.</p><p>                “Doctor Hooper?”</p><p>                She lifted her head quickly, recognising the voice. It wasn’t the Holmes she expected, but his brother, Mycroft. “Yes? Mycroft, hi! Is…everything alright?”</p><p>                Mycroft Holmes knew things. In fact, he felt he knew too much about the goings on between Molly and his brother, or lack, thereof. That was in thanks to John Watson, who really could not keep anyone’s secrets. “I’m afraid this will come out rather awkward, but there is a ball being thrown with parliament members and the like, but my attendance is, unfortunately, required, and I thought if I brought someone along, it wouldn’t be so…tedious. You came to mind first and so I thought I’d ask if you were interested.”</p><p>                Brows knit together and mouth agape, Molly took a full thirty seconds before answering. Mycroft Holmes wasn’t asking her to be his date to some lavish party…was he? “Well, you see—“</p><p>                “You’re engaged, I’m well aware, but consider it a ‘thank you’ for what you did for my brother. Women usually like those sort of things—dancing and danger. Well, maybe just you for the danger part.”</p><p>                Her eyes lit up. “What kind of danger? Are you investigating a murder?”</p><p>Mycroft grinned in amusement. “You really are a most peculiar woman—I mean that in the best way. The reason I must be there is because a high ranking member of parliament was found dead at a dinner party a few nights ago, and I need to figure out who may have done him in,” Mycroft explained. “A car will pick you up at seven this Saturday. I will meet you in the courtyard when you arrive. Anthea will have a gown brought over later today to see what kind of tailoring may need to be done. Good day, Molly.”</p><p>         She watched as he walked out of the room, not the least bit worried that she would reject the offer. Of all the strange occurrences that could have happened today, that definitely hadn’t been a contender. Briefly, Molly wondered if Tom would object to it. It was for a case, and it wasn’t as if she had any interest in Mycroft Holmes. The thought made her laugh. To tell the truth, she was a bit excited for it now. Something adventurous…finally.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I know...there's a lot going on. Molly's slowly coming to the realization that she and Tom really aren't well suited, but she's not ready to admit it yet. Sherlock's trying to give her what he thinks she wants, and it's killing him inside. You're probably wondering why he couldn't just deduce that she isn't happy with Tom. I personally think Molly is a blindspot for him especially when it comes to something his heart is really involved with. In case anyone might ask that lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. moments that we stole</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                It was Saturday evening, the dark sky dotted with what little stars could be seen. The December air was crisp, freezing Sherlock down to his toes. In the courtyard, he waited impatiently for his brother to arrive. As soon as they snuffed out the murderer, he planned to return home. In an effort to keep busy, he had been helping John and Mary organise their wedding to an almost obnoxious degree, he was sure. Lately, he had been allowing his emotions to get the best of him, failing in every effort to thwart them.</p><p>                When Mycroft had come to him with this particular matter, Sherlock had turned it down immediately. It was tedious, boring. As much as he loved to dance, this ball didn’t sound the least bit enticing—not without the one woman he wanted to dance with. She’s ruined him he thinks. He only stood here now waiting for his brother to join him on this case because Mrs. Hudson had threatened to change the locks to keep him out until he talked to Molly.</p><p>                Didn’t anyone see? This was the only way to give her everything she wanted. It wasn’t as if she was reaching out to him. If she didn’t want to speak with him, who was he to not respect her wishes? He and Molly walked a fragile line now. Had he not gone and fallen in love with her, it wouldn’t have to be this way. It was painful being on the other end of unrequited love—he now knew all the pain he had unintentionally put her through in the past, and felt very sorry for it. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about her, for he always had, but Sherlock was very adamant about keeping everyone at a distance. The sociopath façade was for everyone’s sake, including his own. It protected him from his heart, which felt too much, and it protected them from his enemies.</p><p>                One of his brother’s cars rolled up much to his relief. “About time,” he muttered. The door opened and <em>her</em> name rolled off his lips in a breath, of which was currently being taken away by the sight before him. A pair of strappy heels on her small feet, Molly Hooper, her hair swept up into a chignon, began to stride towards the stairs leading up to the main doors. Her petite form was perfectly accentuated in a ruched aubergine chiffon dress that swished around her legs. The sweetheart neckline modestly highlighted her décolletage. His mouth went dry at the sight of her. This was much better than taking this case with his brother, who no doubt, set this whole thing up. She probably thought Mycroft was going to escort her.</p><p>  Despite the anger he felt towards himself, it suddenly dissipated. It was replaced by a new feeling. The warmth that bloomed in his chest upon setting his eyes on her calmed his racing mind. It was as if her presence, alone, comforted him. “Molly,” he said lovingly, his eyes softening at the sight of her.</p><p>                “Sherlock…” her tone matched his own, flabbergasted to see him again. He was donning a pair of rectangular framed glasses, a midnight blue tux, his hair gelled back, a few curls still making themselves known. <em>Oh, he was ever so handsome.</em> “Where’s Mycroft?“</p><p>                He couldn’t keep his eyes off her. <em>God, she’s beautiful</em><em>. </em>“Off, having a laugh I’d wager.” There was no stopping the nervous laugh that escaped him. This was wrong. She was engaged. Mycroft practically set them up on a date. What would Tom do if he found out she was here with someone other than his big brother? He hated himself for it, but the next words out of his mouth were callous. “You shouldn’t be here. Get back in the car, Molly. Go home to your fiancé. Start planning your wedding—for God’s sake pick a date already—and forget about me." The cruelty in his words stung as he said them, and he knew if she stayed, there’d be no stopping whatever else might come out. He turned to go inside.</p><p>                “No,” Molly said firmly, gripping his arm. His words cut her like a knife—the one that was burying itself deeper into her chest. “William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I haven’t a clue what’s gotten into you, but if you think I’m going to let you go it alone, you are sorely mistaken. Besides, Tom knows I’m here; told me to have fun. Damn it, I’m here to do just that, because these last few weeks without you have been shit.” Molly felt the trickle of her tears falling down her face. “You said I’d always have you. Was that a lie?”</p><p>                He stood there, a lump in his throat, his own eyes welling up. The last thing he had wanted to do was make her cry. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, and gently wiped away her tears. “I’m sorry, Molly. I can’t seem to ever do right by you. Of course, you have me. Always. Come on,” he looped his arm through hers. “We’ve been freezing out here for too long. Besides, I’d like to show off how ravishing you look.”</p><p>                She half-laughed, half-sobbed wondering what could have changed his mind from giving her a verbal lashing. They stepped through the doors together into a warmly lit ballroom. It seemed most everyone was simply socialising, only a small handful of people dancing. It was a lovely scene before her, but Molly soon realised she hadn’t been told the specifics of the case. As if reading her mind, Sherlock leaned down and whispered in her ear, his breath hot against her skin, “It was a crime of passion; quite violent, so we’re most likely looking for a jilted lover.”</p><p><em>                G</em><em>od</em><em>, </em>she thought<em>,</em><em> could his voice be any more enticing??? </em>Her thoughts were soon interrupted, probably for the best.</p><p>                “Hello there! I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced! I’m Fabian Quill,” a joyous plump man greeted them.</p><p>                “I’m William Knight, and this,”—he wrapped his arm around her waist protectively—“is my beautiful fiancée, Margaret Holmes.”</p><p>                Molly tried not to react to his choice of surname for her. The sound of her name interwoven with his sent chills through her body. <em>God</em>, it sounded so perfect.</p><p>                “Holmes?” Quill questioned.” Any relation to that detective?”</p><p>                She laughed lightly, humorously, almost awkwardly. “Oh, goodness, no! I do get asked that a lot.”</p><p>                Fabian welcomed them, told them to enjoy the festivities, and bid them good evening before he continued making his rounds. Molly let out a sigh of relief, noting the smug smile on Sherlock’s face from the corner of her eye.</p><p>                “Shall we dance?” he asked her, opening the palm of his still freezing hand.</p><p>                She nodded, taking his offered hand.  They took three steps forward, and turning to face her, Sherlock placed a hand at the small of her back as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Their steps were in perfect tandem as they glided across the floor. The other guests couldn’t help but take notice. He spun her outward and spun her back into his waiting arms.</p><p>                His eyes never left hers, the irises nearly as dark as his suit. For the first time since their crime solving day, Molly allowed herself to let go and enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes as he tilted forward to lean his forehead against hers whilst they moved around the ballroom. It was easy to forget the rest of the world, the case, and other commitments. He had been so cold toward her for God knows why, but it was as if that icy exterior had melted away in favor of holding her in his arms.</p><p>                Sherlock spun her outward once more, and when she turned inward this time, he lifted her in his arms briefly and set her back down on her feet.</p><p>                “Been saving that one?” Molly asked breathlessly, her face flushed. That sparkle in her eyes was there just as he had hoped it would be.</p><p>                His warm smile reached his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. “Only for you, Molly Hooper.”  His low, rumbling voice sparked a flame within her. Their gaze never strayed from one another, full of ‘what ifs’ and ‘what could have beens.’ They had been almost lovers—and what a sad word it was, almost. It implied that everything they had ever wanted had been so close within their reach. He faked his death. She helped him do it. He returned. She had gotten herself engaged just months before. The only regret he ever had was not kissing her goodbye, asking her if she’d wait for him. He suspected she would have.</p><p>                Right as the music reached its coda, Sherlock dipped her, resisting the urge to press his lips to her slender neck. He had to stop himself, for the action felt natural in the moment, and pulled her back up, safe and sound.  “Shall we snuff out our killer?”</p><p>                Lowering her voice, she replied, “Sherlock Holmes, you say the most charming things.”</p><p>                “I do, don’t I?” he quipped.</p><p>                Her laughter bubbled up, sounding like sweet music to his ears. This was the happiest Molly had felt in…well, three, nearly four weeks. It was just beginning to occur to her that the man beside her was the connecting factor. She had missed him <em>so</em> much. He was her best friend; someone she felt she could talk to about anything, even if the subject matter wasn’t necessarily interesting to him.</p><p>                They took a turn about the room, making conversation with the other guests. One woman asked them how they met, claiming they made such a beautiful couple (who would inevitably make beautiful children.) Molly had blushed at that. As for the story of how they met, Sherlock was quick on the uptake and talked of having met in Uni.</p><p><em>                “</em><em>I was nursing a whisky in the pub when I saw her,”</em> he had told her. <em>“She had just had a fight with her boyfriend at the time—he was a scoundrel, never deserved her. It was a pity such a lovely girl was so sad. I thought she deserved to smile, so I covered her next drink and had the bartender slip her a note which I am glad to say cheered her up.”</em></p><p>
  <em>                "Well, go on,” one of the women encouraged, “what did the note say?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Molly smiled graciously despite the heat flushing her cheeks. “Oh, it’s been an age, I can’t possibly recall it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                "Oh, nonsense,” Sherlock remarked, “she’s just being modest. I wrote, ‘You deserve better than that—someone who makes you happy. If I were so lucky, I would treat you as the goddess you are. Oh, my darling, let’s be adventurers and make this world our own.’”</em>
</p><p>                His words had left her breathless as he recited them. The story itself was completely false, but those words…he hadn’t prepared them in any way. He hadn’t even known she’d be here tonight. This was Sherlock speaking from the heart and it was so beautiful, it made her want to cry. Was he just that poetic? Or were these words he wanted to say to her but never could? Molly so desperately wanted to believe the latter, but she didn’t want to get her hopes up. And why should she? Her fiancé was probably awaiting her return, unable to sleep until she was back safe and sound. <em>Most likely not</em>.</p><p>                There went that knot in her stomach telling her something wasn’t right. She felt she might be sick. She clutched her belly in an effort to settle it. And then, pulling her aside, Sherlock placed a hand on her waist, his eyes boring into hers. “Are you feeling alright? Do you need to go home?”</p><p>                Before she could answer, his soft, warm lips were pressed to her forehead. <em>It’s just to feel your temperature</em>, she had to remind herself.</p><p>                “Hmm, you’re not warm,” he murmured. “Do you need to sit down? Would you like some water? What do you need?”</p><p>                For the oddest reason, tears welled up in her eyes. She wasn’t used to someone taking care of her. “I’m alright, really. I’ll be fine. I want to keep investigating.”</p><p>                Sherlock was hesitant. She had looked so pale a moment ago, but the color appeared to have come back as quickly as it left. “Well…if you’re sure. Just tell me if you’d like to go, and I’ll make arrangements for you.”</p><p>                Molly smiled sweetly, almost lovingly. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but thank you. Come on, we’ve many more guests to talk to.”</p><p>                As they jumped from groups, couples, and esteemed friends, it was a pair of gossiping women they had heard mention the deceased, Mister Archibald Hale. “Oh, I had heard what happened,” Molly told them. “Awful business, that. You don’t reckon he had taken a lover?”</p><p>                One lady laughed at the notion, the old engagement ring hanging from a chain around her neck gleaming under the lights. “Oh, Archie definitely had one. Don’t know who she was, mind you, but either his wife offed him or his mistress did. Either way, the man was a lesion on society.”</p><p>                “A despicable one, he was,” another woman added, taking a sip of her champagne. “I heard his wife knew about the whole sordid affair. I bet she bided her time before doing away with him.”</p><p>                Sherlock stepped in, then. “Hm, and what if there was a third person involved? Not the wife or his lover? Anyone like that you know?” The women shook their heads, though the first who spoke to them—Elsie Brown—appeared a bit on edge. “Well, good evening to you ladies. I think Margaret may need some fresh air, don’t you, darling?”</p><p>                Molly nodded. “It is quite stifling in here. It was a pleasure to meet you all.” She took Sherlock’s arm as he quietly led her through the crowd and onto the balcony.</p><p>                “What do you make of Elsie?” he asked her once they were alone.</p><p>                “I think she knows something,” Molly replied. “Maybe she did it, though we know she’s not the wife.”</p><p>                Sherlock nodded. “Nor the lover, I’d wager. No, I think this is far more personal. The murderer is a jilted lover as I suspected, but one from long ago.”</p><p>                A light went on in her thoughts, and excitedly, she grabbed Sherlock’s arms. “Notice how she called him ‘Archie.’ There’s a level of intimacy there. Perhaps they were in love once, maybe even betrothed, if that ring around her neck is anything to go by, and he left her for another woman. It wasn’t the wife that bided her time, but Elsie, who was probably planning this for years!”</p><p>                He smiled warmly, so in love with the woman excitedly solving his case. Though, of course he had already solved it. Sherlock thought it would be nice to let her have this one. It was the least he could do after the fight they had. Never did he want to make her cry again, not that he had intended to. “Excellent work, Molly,” he praised her as he sent off a text to Mycroft. “I’ll make a detective out of you, yet.”</p><hr/><p>                They rode back to her flat together in one of Mycroft’s cars. Sherlock wanted to be sure she got home safely. When she began to let herself out, he placed his hand on hers. “Molly, wait.” He now had her immediate attention. “About earlier…I am very sorry for the way I snapped at you, and for what I said. Furthermore, I shouldn’t have disappeared on you. I hurt you, and that is unforgivable in my book.”</p><p>                Molly shook her head. “Not unforgivable.”</p><p>                He smiled sadly. “You’re too kind to me, Molly. If there’s any way I can make it up to you…”</p><p>                “You can start by forgiving yourself,” she told him. “You’re much too critical for your own good.” And she leaned in, leaving him a kiss upon his cheek. </p><p>                Sherlock could barely breathe, though he managed one last sentiment. “As you wish, Molly Hooper.”</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Molly's Dress</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>That was a doozy, huh?? Molly's slowly starting to realize that Sherlock really does love her. *squee!!!* Apologies for the terrible case; I'm no good at writing them haha, but it was needed for this chapter to happen!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. it's the goddamn fight of my life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank y'all so much for the love you've given this story!!! You're my biggest cheerleaders and I love y'all for it!!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                Molly woke early Sunday morning, having slept well last night. She supposed solving a murder during a night of dancing and going undercover would do that to you. Tom had gone to bed long before she had arrived home. Whatever connection Molly thought they had all this time seemed to have disappeared. Did he feel something was wrong too? If he did, he didn’t show it. Would he have cared that she ended up escorting Sherlock on the case rather than Mycroft? Probably not.</p><p>                That was the thing about Tom. He was quite indifferent about most things. He didn’t have fits of jealousy or concerns about any of her friends, which was a good thing sometimes, but it often felt like he just didn’t care. She was sure that wasn’t true. He did care for her and treated her well, but they didn’t seem to be connecting. And maybe they never really did. Molly longed for good conversation, adventure, passion, a shared morbid curiosity, and most importantly, someone who understood her. Did Tom understand her? She supposed if she had to ask, the answer was probably no.</p><p>                The last month and a half had been miserable for her. Christmas was just around the corner, and they were supposed to go to his parents’ for the holiday. <em>Maybe then</em>, she thought, <em>things will feel like the way they did before</em>. Briefly, she questioned whether or not things might have always been this way. Perhaps she had elected to ignore the issues she now found. But it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be worked on. Every couple had their issues. Though, intimacy seemed to have been lacking lately, mostly due to her. No, they hadn’t been having much sex, but that’s all it seemed to be anymore. Just sex.</p><p>                She suddenly felt ill, much like she did the night before. And then the memory of Sherlock’s concern for her, his lips soft against her skin, had a comforting effect on her. It settled around her thumping heart and calmed her troubled mind. There was a fire in her heart, a blaze so bright, it revealed the cracks in it so clearly. Molly had fought so hard to ignore them, to act like things were alright when they weren’t. She dug out her phone and searched through her contacts. Thumb hovering over Mary's name, she took a deep breath and dialed.</p><hr/><p>                “Molly, luv! Hi!” Mary threw her arms around the pathologist, hugging her tight. They were meeting at the lovely little café around the corner from Bart’s on Molly’s lunch break.</p><p>                “Hi,” she returned with relief. It had been two days since Molly called her up in a bit of a panic. “Thank you for meeting me here.”</p><p>                Mary gave a wave of her hand. “Oh, it was nothing. I’m always available for a friend in need. How’s life, Molly? Tom treating you well?”</p><p>                “Well, I thought he was. I mean, he’s not been horrible. It’s just I feel like things have gotten off track. Has that happened with you and John? After a while of being engaged, things start to feel off?” Molly wondered.</p><p>                “The pressure of an upcoming wedding can do that to you,” Mary joked with a smile. “But darling, don’t worry, what’s meant to be will be. If you’re so bothered, why don’t you talk to him?”</p><p>                “I would, but he always seems to shrug it all off. Trust me, I’ve been trying,” she replied.</p><p>                Mary narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Molly, dear, if I may? We haven’t known each other long, but from what I know about you from Sherlock, John, and Greg, is that you’re an amazingly resilient woman. You’re stubborn and a bit feisty. From that description, this sounds very unlike you. Make the berk listen to you for once. Sit him down, set him straight. Tell him how you’re feeling.”</p><p>                Molly raised her brows skeptically. “You make it sound so easy.” She didn’t even know how she felt anymore.</p><p>                “All I know is if you don’t sort yourself out before you tie the knot, you’re gonna regret it. Sharing your life with somebody who you feel like you can’t talk to? That’s a special kind of hell, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone,” Mary told her. “I know you’ll do just fine, dearie. Listen to your heart. The worst that could happen is that it doesn’t work out. And I know that’s a big risk to take, but it’s not in hindsight, especially if you’re not happy.”</p><p>                She nodded, knowing she had to do something. If she wanted to be heard, Molly needed to make herself heard. They’d be leaving in a couple days to head to his parents’ for the holidays. Maybe that would give them the time they needed away from work, away from their bustling lives. “Well, enough about me. How are you and John?”</p><p>                Mary’s eyes lit up. “I’m glad you asked! We’re doing well. The wedding planning has been a bit dull, but Sherlock’s been such a huge help.”</p><p>                Molly laughed in surprise. “What?? Seriously? Sherlock?”</p><p>                <em>Gotcha. </em>“I think it’s his way of trying to get it over with, but he seems to enjoy the distraction,” Mary replied. “He’s been—well, I think he’s struggling a bit, all these changes, and whatnot. The poor man’s been in mourning since he came back.”</p><p>                Fighting the tears that prickled her eyes, Molly felt her chest tighten. “Yeah, I know he’s been having it rough. I told him it would all be okay, though. He’ll still have us.”</p><p>                <em>Poor girl</em>, Mary thought. <em>Can’t even see what’s right in front of her. Then again, neither can Sherlock.</em> She knew they were in love with one another—deeply so—but both were so blind to it, breaking their own hearts in the process. It was one thing for a love to be unrequited, but for both parties to think it was when it wasn’t…sad and beautifully tragic. “Indeed, he will,” she agreed, hoping one of them would get their head out of their arse soon.</p><hr/><p>                Sherlock paged through his beekeeping book whilst in deep thought. He knew he had to tell her how he felt. Avoiding her wasn’t an option—it hadn’t gone well and he had hurt her feelings. Ever since the night at the ball, he couldn’t help but think of the way she looked at him. There were moments where it seemed that her feelings for him were still there, buried deep. But that was hope, and everyone knows that hope breeds eternal misery.</p><p>                A knock at the door startled him, leading him to knock the book off his desk. “Shit,” he muttered, scrambling to pick it up. Another knock. “Yeah, come in.”</p><p>                “Brother mine, I—what’s that?” he pointed the tip of his umbrella toward the book. “A book on beekeeping? Retiring earlier than I thought.”</p><p>                Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Molly, got it for me a while back ago. You know, the Christmas party from hell.”</p><p>                “Ah,” Mycroft realised. The night Irene’s ‘body’ had to be identified. “Well, I actually came over here about Doctor Hooper.”</p><p>                Sherlock seated himself behind the desk and stared at his brother with brows drawn. “And?”</p><p>                “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.</p><p>                “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, brother dear,” Sherlock quipped.</p><p>                Mycroft glared at him. “You know perfectly well what I mean. You do realise she’s spending the holidays with that foolish fiancé of hers and his family?”</p><p>                “I’m perfectly aware,” he shot back. “She left about a half hour ago. What I’m trying to figure out is why you’ve been so supportive of my romantic pursuit.”</p><p>                “Because she makes you happy,” his brother replied, surprising him. “She’s good for you. Plus, I am rather quite fond of her.”</p><p>                “You just like to steal the biscuits she bakes for me,” Sherlock joked. Then he turned serious. “I’ve been thinking more lately about telling her. I’d do it now, but a conversation like that isn’t fit for a phone call.” He stood and went to the window, taking in the night sky and the snow falling to the ground. Maybe he could—</p><p>                 Mycroft read his thoughts. “As much joy as it would give you to do so, I doubt she’d appreciate you crashing the celebration.”</p><p>                <em>Damn.</em> Sherlock knew his brother was right. It was the twenty-third. She waited for him for five years. He could wait three days. He picked up his mobile and sent off a text.</p><p>
  <strong>                Let me know when you arrive safely. Happy Christmas, Molly.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                -SH</strong>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And, there goes the end of the 'ivy' section of the story! The next two chapters are based on 'champagne problems!' If you know the song, you know what's coming ;p</p><p>I know. Not a whole lot went on in this chapter, but think of it as a bridge of what's to come :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. your heart was glass...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                They took the night train into Sheffield. Tom sat across from her, a science fiction novel open in his hands. It was only a two hour ride, but Molly wished she had brought something to distract her from everything. Instead she sat there, her heart hurting, wishing she had the courage to bring up what she needed to speak to him about. There had been a lack of that lately, courage. The first weekend of the new year, she had a symposium to attend where she’d be giving a talk about her most recent published article.</p><p>                Curious, she decided to at least say something. “Did you ever read my paper? The one that was published a few weeks back?”</p><p>                Without looking up from his book, Tom furrowed his brows. “What paper?”</p><p>                “It was the one about the unusual cases of tandem bullets and how to spot the findings of such an injury,” Molly reminded him.   </p><p>                “Uh, no, sorry, Molls, can’t say I have,” he replied, still not looking at her. “You know it’s not my cup of tea.”</p><p>                <em>Not his cup of tea, indeed.</em> She rolled her eyes. Of course he hadn’t. But Sherlock had. And without prompting. A small smile bloomed on her face at the memory. He had told her it was brilliant. <em>“My clever Molly,”</em> he called her.</p><p>                Molly turned her head toward the window, watching as more stars dotted the sky the further from London they got. She blinked her eyes slowly, fighting the exhaustion she felt. It wasn’t long before everything went black, dreams of Sherlock in her head. This time, she didn’t fight them. They were lovely dreams of Sherlock kissing her, holding her, touching her, making her his. It was more than she could bear. Then they were dancing, the song playing in the background tugging at her heart.</p><p>
  <em>Goodbye, my almost lover</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Goodbye, my hopeless dream</em>
</p><p>                Tears stained her face as she slept. She’d cry an ocean for him, the water’s colour matching his eyes. He was calling out to her, her name like a prayer on his lips. What followed were the words she had longed to hear him say: <em>I love you</em>. And damn it, she could no longer deny that she loved him too.</p><hr/><p>                <strong>Arrived in Sheffield safe and sound. It probably won’t be long until I’m dead to the world. Happy Christmas to you too, Sherlock. And thanks for thinking of me.</strong></p><p>
  <strong>                -Mx</strong>
</p><p>                  Sherlock read over her words several times before finally setting his phone down to look over the sheet music in front of him, adding the final notes to his composition for her. Reaching for his violin, he put the bow to the strings, allowing the first sorrowful notes to overcome him. The music coursed through his veins as it poured out from his heart. The tone shifted into something tender, romantic. He thought of her eyes, her laugh, her smile; the way she lingered long enough to drive him crazy when she kissed his cheek.</p><p>                  Downstairs, Mrs. Hudson listened to the music—she loved it when he played—with tears in her eyes. “You poor dear…” she blubbered, using a tissue to blow her nose. She so wished he would just tell Molly how he felt. There was no doubt in her mind that the girl loved him back. They were both so damn stubborn.</p><p>                  As Sherlock brought the music to a close, he let out a ragged breath. Setting the violin back in its case, he thought of how much he wished he could have her here for Christmas. He wasn’t overly fond of the holiday, but it sparked joy in her. They could spend it together—just the two of them by the fire, he in his chair and her, legs curled up on his lap. It was a nice little dream. Sherlock so desperately wanted her to know he loved her. He wasn’t giving up without a fight this time.</p><hr/><p>                 Molly looked around at all the once-familiar faces. The house was crowded with Tom’s family—people she met only a small handful of times—but she never felt so alone in her life. When she thought of family, images of John and Mary showed up, Greg, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, and, of course, Sherlock. They were the ones she should be spending Christmas with. It wasn’t that Tom’s family was awful—quite the opposite. It had been so long since she had a parent-like figure in her life.</p><p>                 “Have you two set a date yet?” his mother asked. She threw a stealthy wink at her son.</p><p>                 Tom shook his head, amused by the question. “We discussed April in the beginning, didn’t we, Molls?”</p><p>                 “Hmm?” she said sleepily. “Oh, uh, yeah.” They only discussed it, never officially choosing anything yet. Or, at least, she never did. “Sorry, just a bit tired from the ride over. Thomas, do you know if my phone is done charging yet?”</p><p>                 He headed over to the small charging table across the room and retrieved it for her. “All charged up,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss her cheek.</p><p>                 “Thanks,” she replied, a sad smile on her face. Tom <em>did</em> love her, she had no doubt about that, but it wasn’t the way she had always imagined. Then again, life wasn’t a fairytale. <em>But it could be</em>, Mary’s voice rang clear in her head. Molly unlocked her phone finding another text from Sherlock.</p><p>
  <strong>                 Glad you made it safely. Have a good night, Molly. Sleep well and have pleasant dreams. </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                 -SHx</strong>
</p><hr/><p>                 She had no idea how long she sat there staring at the little ‘x’ he added beside his initials just for her. Needing to be alone with her thoughts, Molly headed upstairs. A few people—his mum, aunt, and grandmother—bid her goodnight. She acknowledged them briefly, happy when she was able to turn the corner at the top of the steps. It was another hour or so before Tom joined her. He slipped in beneath the duvet, oblivious to the fact she had been crying. Not that she knew what for. She wanted to start a fight with him if only just to feel something other than the pain that had been eating her up for weeks.</p><p>                 “I don’t think I’m who you think I am,” she muttered to him.</p><p>                 Tom turned toward her. “Where’s this coming from?”</p><p>                 Molly sighed. “From a long overdue conversation, and please don’t just shut me down like you always do. It’s getting old. I think when you met me, I was a shell of the person I am. You fell in love with the wrong girl.”</p><p>                 “Come, now, Molls, I know who you are,” Tom tried to assure her. “This is just wed—well, engagement jitters. Is that why we haven’t done much of anything to plan? I know it can be overwhelming.”</p><p>                 She shook her head. He really didn’t know her at all. “What’s my favourite colour?”</p><p>                 “I—what’s that got to do with anything?” he asked. “It’s green.”</p><p>                 Molly smiled sadly. “No, it’s not. It’s yellow.”</p><p>                 “It’s just a colour, Molls,” he told her, yawning.</p><p>                 “It’s your favourite colour,” she told him.</p><p>                 “What is?”</p><p>                 “Green,” she replied. “That’s the colour you like.”</p><p>                 “Actually…it’s not,” he admitted.</p><p>                 Molly scrunched her face in confusion. “Then why do you wear green so much?”</p><p>                 Tom ran a hand through his hair. “You said you really liked green on me when we were first dating.”</p><p>                 She tried so hard, but couldn’t control the laughter that came out. Tom joined in, knowing how ridiculous they’d been. Sharing a laugh helped lessen the tension, but he couldn’t deny she had a point. Like most things though, he let it roll off his shoulders, chalking it up to nerves or pressure. Maybe if he could make things easier on her. Wedding planning was a bit contrived. Perhaps she’d prefer spontaneity? The cogs were turning in his head, though it wasn’t long before they both drifted to sleep, facing away from one another.</p><hr/><p>
  <strong>A Little Over a Year Ago</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>                 “Molly! You made it!” Meena shrieked in excitement. The pub was crowded, music from the house band thumping through the speakers around her. She dragged Molly over to the bar. “I’d like you to meet Tom! He’s a friend of my brother’s!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 “Hi,” Tom greeted her somewhat awkwardly. He held out his hand to her and Molly shook it.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 "Hello,” she replied, forcing a smile, unable to ignore how he dressed similarly to a certain consulting detective. Some days were still difficult since Sherlock had gone. It had been nearly a year since he left. Molly knew he was alive, but she grieved him just the same. She felt his absence in everything she did, searching for him in the lab or expecting him to come sweeping in the morgue like he did before. Mike had caught her once in the lab, heaving sobs wracking her body.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 "It’ll be alright, Molly,” he had told her, silently asking permission to hug her. She nodded and let him comfort her. He knew how much Sherlock meant to her. “We all miss him.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                 Needless to say, it wasn’t difficult for her to convince everyone of her own grief. She prayed for his safety every single night. And, Meena, bless her soul, was trying to help Molly move on. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                "Would you mind if I bought you a drink?” Tom asked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Determined to enjoy herself, Molly replied, “Not at all. Thank you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Meena’s brother joined them moments later, and the four of them traded stories from Uni, laughing at all the shit they got into. It was the first time Sherlock hadn’t lingered in her mind since his departure, and Molly felt lighter than she had in months. Tom was lovely, treated her kindly. They bonded over their love of BBC’s Miranda and Doctor Who. She learned that he liked to go to the pub on weekends to watch football with his mates.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Molly was hesitant to share anything about her. She certainly didn’t want to tell him she was still grieving the loss of her closest friend, though it would eventually come out later thanks to Meena. She listened to him talk about his family, growing up in Sheffield. When he asked about hers, all she could muster was, “There’s no one left. Just me.” The emptiness left inside her made itself known once more at the reminder that she really had next to no one left in her life. She had Meena, and of course that should be enough, but somehow it wasn’t. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Hey…you okay?” Tom asked, breaking her free from the depressing thoughts in her head.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Hmm? Sorry.” She laughed nervously. “I tend to get lost in my head sometimes—it’s been happening a lot more often lately.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Nice to see you joining the land of the living,” Meena joked.     </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Molly rolled her eyes playfully. The rest of the night eased her troubled mind. They had gone and played darts, girls against guys. Only by two points, the girls had lost, but it was because of Tom’s insanely accurate throws. She felt flirty with the alcohol in her system, and decided to present a proposition to Tom. “Take one more shot, and if you hit the bullseye—“</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                "And what?” he asked, teasing her, his eyes practically undressing her. “Do I get a snog out of this?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Meena’s brother whistled loudly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Feeling bold, she nodded. “You better not miss.”  Surprising her, Tom took a moment to line up the shot and hit it right in the center. Meena and her brother cheered and started shouting in excitement when Molly pulled Tom in for a searing kiss. From that alone, she could feel the void that had been left in her life from Sherlock’s absence start to close up bit by bit. And it left her wanting more.  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>Nine Months Ago</strong>
</p><p>                <em>It had been a bit of whirlwind. Molly had dated Tom for a month before they made it official. Now, two months in an actual relationship, she felt content. His gentle demeanor was exactly what she needed in her life at the moment, and she was thankful for it. They were to have dinner tonight over at his place. She was excited mostly to see his dog, Milo, who always looked put out every time he took a whiff of her, smelling her cat’s scent on her clothes. </em></p><p>
  <em>                “Molly,” he smiled brightly when he opened his door to his flat. “Come on in. Milo’s missed you.” He shut the door behind her after she stepped inside, and kissed her lips firmly. “I’ve missed you too.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                She laughed, feeling her face flush. “You know I’m only with you for your dog, right?” she joked, bending down to scratch beneath Milo’s chin. He sniffed her, letting out a disapproving growl. “You’ll have to just get used to it, Milo.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “I knew you were too good to be true,” Tom joked back from the kitchen. “Milo gets all the love.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                They eventually sat down to eat the delicious dinner Tom had cooked up for them. There wasn’t a lot he was good at making, but Molly didn’t care much, for she wasn’t one for cooking, herself. “There was this tumor I found during my autopsy today; it was so small, but intricately woven throughout the tissue. So sad for the poor man, of course, but it was fascinating!”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Tom blanched, fighting the urge to vomit. “Is that so?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Oh! Sorry, I forget I can’t just talk about that stuff with anyone.” Molly wanted to slink beneath the table, embarrassed of her enthusiasm.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                He smiled weakly. “No worries, just maybe no autopsy talk tonight?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Right, of course, sorry.” It was the fifth or sixth time she felt she had to apologise for her more…odd interests.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                They finished up dinner and settled on the sofa for a movie that, about halfway in, was ignored in favor of a little snogging. Molly tried to get herself to relax, matching his enthusiasm in an effort to clear her head. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “I think I love you,” Tom had spoken against her lips. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Molly paused, unsure at first, and then spoke slowly, “I think I do too.”</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I wanted to include some backstory for context. I think it helps answer where Molly's head was at when it came to Tom, and why she elected to ignore how unhappy she was.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ...I dropped it</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                Sherlock smiled in satisfaction at the little velvet box set open on his desk. Inside was necklace, a lovely golden honeybee on a thin golden chain. That, along with a recording of his composition for her was to be Molly’s Christmas gift when she came back to town. He hoped she would love it as much as he hoped that somewhere hidden inside of her, she loved him too. He laughed to himself knowing that the person he was three years ago would scoff at the man he was now, but he didn’t care. It was strange, but he often found himself dividing his life by a single event: before and after falling in love with Molly Hooper.</p><p>                Regardless of how badly things could go once he told her, he knew he’d never stop loving her. Molly could stomp on his heart for all he cared, and he would still continue to adore her. Pouring himself a glass of whisky, Sherlock registered the sound of Mrs. Hudson’s footsteps just before she knocked and let herself in anyways.</p><p>                “Hoo hoo,” she chimed, an enticing package wrapped in red in her arms. “This came for you in the post, dear.”</p><p>                He took a sip from his glass, furrowing his brows, and set it down to retrieve the parcel. As soon as it was in his hands, Mrs. Hudson gave him a knowing smile. “What?”</p><p>                “It’s from Molly,” she informed him. “No idea why she sent it through the system instead of letting me hold onto it.”</p><p>                Sherlock looked down at it, a smirk on his face. “Perhaps it’s because she knows you would’ve been too curious for your own good.”</p><p>                She waved him off. “Well, go on, open it!”</p><p>                “Shouldn’t I wait for Christmas?” he countered playfully. In all honesty, he was curious about the contents. The fact she had gotten him a gift at all surprised him. It hadn’t gone so well the last time she had attempted it. A pang of guilt shot through him.</p><p>                “Did you want some privacy, dear?” Mrs. Hudson asked, noting his contemplation.</p><p>                He shook his head. She wanted to know what it was too, and as invested as she was in their impending relationship, he thought it would be nice to let her be a part of it. Sherlock walked over to the sofa and seated himself, motioning for her to join him. The decorative paper fell away with ease and he then lifted the lid of the box. Inside was a handmade journal bound in soft leather in a lovely russet shade. It closed with a thin leather strap that wrapped around the journal twice. The end of the strap had a button that snapped onto its connecting half on the cover. The paper was handmade as well, deckle-edged and stained for a vintage look.</p><p>                “Oh, that’s lovely,” Mrs. Hudson cooed. “It’s very you.”</p><p>                “It is,” he agreed, unraveling the wrap. “Hhm.” He chuckled upon seeing that Molly took the liberty to write him a note on the very first page. Mrs. Hudson placed a motherly hand on his shoulder before getting up to give him space to read it. She closed the door and his eyes began to drink up her sweetly penned words.</p><p>                <strong>Sherlock,</strong></p><p>
  <strong>                I know you’ve been struggling with the transition back into your life after being gone for so long. Having you in my life again has been the highlight of my year. I know you have a hard time with your emotions, processing them. I was glad to see you still felt you could open up to me, but  sometimes you need to get it out on paper—the words and thoughts in your head—in order to understand what’s going on in your heart. Or you could just track your experiments of course. Merry Christmas, Sherlock Holmes.</strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>                Thank you for coming back to London. To us. To me.  </strong>
</p><p>
  
  <strong>With love, Molly xxx</strong>
</p><p><em>Three kisses says it’s a romantic attachment</em>. Sherlock recalled his words from long ago. It must have been out of habit. At least that’s what he tries to convince himself, for fear of hoping that it meant more. <em>Either way, Miss Hooper has lurve on her mind</em>. He shook away the thoughts as best he could. <em>The fact that she’s serious about him is clear from the fact that she’s giving him a gift at all.</em></p><p>                “Shut. Up,” he grumbled. Carefully, he set the journal back inside the box, and carried it to his bedroom, setting it on top of his dresser for the time being. Her note had made him smile, showing she had given this gift a lot of thought. He recalled where she wrote that having him in her life again had been the highlight of her year…not her engagement, but his return. Sherlock turned his head, looking down the hall at the desk where his glass of whisky sat. He had a feeling he was going to need to finish it as he contemplated her words.</p><hr/><p>                Molly was frustrated. She couldn’t get through to Tom. Or maybe she had and he didn’t want to admit that she was right. Either way, something needed to give. The cold bit at her skin as she watched Milo run around the backyard in the snow. It was getting dark—nearly six o’clock now. Christmas Eve.</p><p>                “Come on, Milo, time to go in,” she called out to the rambunctious dog. He obeyed, coming up to rub his head against her leg, making her laugh. “I think I’ll miss you most of all.”</p><p>                Once inside the warmth of the house, she stopped short, noticing all eyes on her. Her nerves had her taking in the room, the details, trying to figure out what was going on. There was an expensive bottle of champagne set out on the coffee table with glasses for everyone, most likely bought by Tom’s sister. By the look on everyone’s faces, Molly assumed they were waiting for something to happen—something celebratory. She looked up towards the stairs, finding Tom on the landing, greeting her with a smile. His brother stood just at the doorway to the kitchen as if he had taken position right there. What the hell was going on?</p><p>                “Molls,” he smiled, “could you join me for a moment?”</p><p>                The twisted knot in her stomach was pulled tighter, her breathing unsteady. Somehow, she brought herself to him, nausea notwithstanding. “What is this?” she whispered to him.</p><p>                Tom took her hand in his. “I know the idea of planning a big wedding has been a little overwhelming—maybe too overwhelming. My brother’s ordained, so I thought, why not just do it now whilst everyone’s gathered here? We can have a big celebration later—that way the pressure’s off.”</p><p>                <em>Is he insane? </em></p><p>                Everyone gasped. Apparently she had said that out loud.</p><p>                Molly laughed awkwardly. “No, Tom. Maybe everyone you care about is here, but what about <em>my</em> friends? They’re my family. And how can you expect me to do this right now when you know damn well things aren’t right between us?”</p><p>                He looked panicked. “Okay, no problem, we won’t do it. We’ll wait. I just thought—”</p><p>                She locked her eyes on his, dropping his hand. “No. This isn’t what I want. I thought it was. But I’ve been so blind. I deserve better and so do you.” Molly slid the ring from her finger and placed it in his palm. “I’m in love with someone else—I’ve loved him for a very long time, and I’m afraid I’ve been using you as an excuse, as a way to deny how I felt because I was scared. I want to be able to say I chose my life; that I didn’t settle for it. I’m gonna pack up my things. I’ll go, and you’ll never have to set eyes on me again.”</p><p>                 He looked crestfallen, but didn’t appear to be surprised. As she set off toward their room, his family began conversing again. And she couldn’t help but overhear.</p><p>                “Oh, Thomas, I’m so sorry,” his aunt told him. “She would have made such a lovely bride.”</p><p>                “What a shame she’s fucked in the head,” his mum added disdainfully.</p><p>                  Molly couldn’t help but giggle at that. Maybe she was, but at least there was someone who loved her regardless. By the time she finished packing, everyone had dispersed, off doing their own thing. Most likely, they were just waiting for her to go. She was still a bit on edge after having broken off the engagement in front of his family.</p><p>                  She tried to calm herself, her hands still shaking slightly. Despite how nerve-wracking it had been, she felt a huge weight lift off of her shoulders, unburdening her from all of the pain and sadness. A new feeling took place, one that spoke to her of hope and a not-so-lost love. She was going home to London. To Baker Street. To Sherlock.</p><p>“Molly!”</p><p>                  Her head whipped around to find Tom coming out from the kitchen. She prepared herself for his venom. It would be deserved. Whilst she may not have been unfaithful physically, her heart had been, but there hadn’t been much she could do about that. After all, she did try to keep it all together until the moment her last nerve was shot.</p><p>                  “I just wanted to say…you were right,” he told her.</p><p>                  “What?” That…was not what she expected.</p><p>                  “When we met, you were still grieving the loss of a friend. Though I’m sure he was much more than that to you. When you said I fell in love with the wrong girl, you were right. Since he came back, you’ve been different. In a good way, mind you. More lively, even. Truthfully, I was a shit fiancé. I didn’t want to admit that things had changed when he returned. You convinced yourself you were in love as a way to hide your pain. I’ve no doubt that you loved me, but I don’t think you ever were <em>in</em> love with me.”</p><p>                  Molly was speechless. How is it he was so insightful all of a sudden?</p><p>                  Tom continued on, willing himself to get the last bit out. “You and Sherlock—there’s no denying that it’s meant to be. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. He was though. We never really knew each other, did we, Molls?”</p><p>                  “No,” she admitted, “we really didn’t. I hope you find what you’re looking for. Honestly. Don’t dwell too much on this. Goodbye, Tom.” She was out the door, ready to face her new future. The only question was, after all the pain and heartache, would Sherlock still want her? There was only one way to find out…</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Sherlock's Journal (sort of, I removed the key for the fic lol)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Poor Tom...so desperate to fix things, but it never worked out. But that's okay. It wasn't meant to be. He'll find someone fit for him just as Molly is going to London to find the man fit for her :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. this time I'm ready</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>SURPRISE! Double Chapter upload today! This one's really short compared to the others, but it's oh so exciting! This chapter is based off Long Story Short by Taylor Swift!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                She looked at the time. It was nearly nine o’clock. Soon, she’d reach London. The closer the train got to her beloved city, the more her heart pounded away in her chest. It was a relief that things hadn’t ended too sourly. Even if it had been a right mess, Molly found she wouldn’t have cared. It was time for her to do something for herself for once. After all, it wasn’t a crime to free yourself from a miserable situation in order to go after what made you happy.</p><p>                Molly had felt lost these past two years, like a piece of her was missing. When Sherlock Holmes left London, he had gone and taken her heart with him. And she gladly let him have it. Whatever he needed, it was his to keep. She fell into another man’s arms to fill the void in her chest where her heart resided. It was stupid and reckless and it caused nothing but misery. Meena had meant well setting them up together, but looking back, Molly felt embarrassed that any of it happened. She had heavily flirted, kissed him, desperate to cling on to someone who was keeping her pain at bay…at least until Sherlock returned. And then it was a whole ordeal.</p><p>                And she was there. London. Molly stepped off the train, breathing in the familiar air. The cab she reserved waited for her, and she climbed in the back, practically bouncing in her seat. “221B Baker Street, please.”</p><p>                “You’ve got it, luv,” the cabbie told her.</p><p>                Looking out the window, taking in the scenery as it blurred by, she felt trepidation begin to set in. She continued to shake it off, refusing to allow her fear to get the best of her. Molly had come too far to turn back now.</p><p>                The cabbie spoke to her again. “You got a case for Sherlock Holmes?” Obviously, he recognised the address.</p><p>                “Sort of,” Molly grinned. “Something was stolen.” <em>And I don’t want it back—I just want his in return. </em>She had to stifle a giggle at her cheesy, sentimental  joke.</p><p>                The cab came to a stop beside the snow covered sidewalk leading up to the door. She paid the cabbie, adding in a little extra as a Christmas gift, grabbed her bag, and stepped out. The snow crunched beneath her feet as she approached the door, the knocker tilted to the side. She rolled her eyes at the Holmes brothers’ strange sibling squabbles. She took a deep breath and turned the knob, taking a step into her long-desired future.</p><hr/><p>                Sherlock was tossing and turning, sleep becoming an impossible goal to reach. For some reason, his mind was adamant about keeping him awake for God knows why. He reached out for his mobile, checking the time. It was going on nine-thirty. Sherlock ran a contemplative hand through his curls. He had tried to go to bed ridiculously early after he ended up drinking a second glass of whisky earlier. Scrolling through his messages, his thumb hovered over Molly’s name, enticing him to just ring her up. Sherlock longed to hear her voice, even if it was just for a few minutes.</p><p>                He pressed the call button, listening to it ring, waiting for her to answer.</p><p>                “Hello?” she said breathlessly. He really didn’t want to imagine why she sounded out of breath. “Everything alright, Sherlock?”</p><p>                “Not really,” he sighed. “Can’t sleep.”</p><p>                “So you called me?”</p><p>                He could hear the smile in her tone, which made him smile too. Sherlock was done hiding. “I wanted to hear your voice.” A knock on the door had him groan as he got out of bed.</p><p>                “Well, that’s a relief,” Molly told him as he made his way to the door, “because I wanted to see you.”</p><p>                “You wanted to—“ Sherlock stopped, his hand on the knob, and slowly turned it. He threw open the door to find Molly Hooper, phone held up to her ear, her deep brown eyes gazing at him.</p><p>“Hello,” she smiled. This was it—the constant tug of war was over. Her eyes traveled over him, clad in a white t-shirt and green tartan pajama pants, a look of bewilderment on his face. She was home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Anddddd that's all you get until Monday lol!! ;p</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. that's my man</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>              Sherlock tossed his phone on the sofa as Molly tucked hers away in the pocket of her coat, and he cradled her face in his hands, willing himself to believe she was really here, searching her eyes for any trace of doubt. “You’re here,” he murmured, still not quite believing it. Leaning down and pressing his lips to hers, Sherlock felt her wrap her arms around his neck, pulling him closer, opening her mouth to him. A warm, spine-tingling sensation washed over her down to her raised-up toes as his tongue met hers, their noses brushing. “Mmm!” she sounded as he guided her inside the flat, his lips unrelenting, not wanting to break from hers. He backed her up against the door, effectively closing it.</p><p>              He withdrew his tongue in favor of small, soft brushes of his mouth against hers. Molly nuzzled her nose with his, cold meeting warm, and he pressed a kiss to the tip of it. “Molly,” he sighed happily. “My darling,”—he kissed the corner of her left eye—“my heart.” He kissed the corner of her right eye.  </p><p>              “I love you.” They spoke in unison, both laughing in relief. Sherlock leaned his forehead against hers briefly as he removed her gloves. He lifted her left hand, glancing down at it to find there was no longer a ring on her finger. It all had felt too good to be true, he had to be sure. She slid her bag off her shoulder, letting it fall to the floor.</p><p>              Sherlock stroked her cheek with a feather-light touch of his fingers. He was having a hard time believing she was really there—that she had chosen him. “Do you realise how long I’ve dreamt of this?”</p><p>              Tears welling up in her eyes, Molly shook her head. “Tell me.”</p><p>              “Since staying with you on my last night in London,” he confessed. “I could hardly bare to leave you.”</p><p>              She closed her eyes, tears sliding down her cheeks. Their conversation in the stairwell had a whole new meaning to her now. She hadn’t been imagining things. An ache bloomed in her chest as she realised she had broken his heart that day. “I missed you so much,” she told him.</p><p>              He took a moment to wipe her tears away. “I missed you too.”</p><p>              Molly rose up on her toes and pressed a soft kiss to his mouth, gently tugging on his bottom lip. He was sure that if heaven existed, it couldn’t compare to this. “I have to be honest: I wasn’t so sure you’d still want me after everything,” she said quietly.</p><p>              With a shake of his head, chuckling, Sherlock dismissed her fears. “Of course I still want you. I will always want you, Molly. If it makes you feel any better, I was thoroughly convinced you didn’t love me. I was sure it was unrequited. I was afraid to hope for more.”</p><p>              “What on earth made you think that?” she asked.</p><p>              He smiled sadly, leading her to the sofa so they could have this conversation as comfortably as possible. “You were set to marry a man who was my opposite in almost every way. I thought you couldn’t possibly love or want someone like me. What else was I supposed to think? I felt I should back off, so—“    </p><p>              “You avoided me for three weeks,” she finished, understanding his reasons why.</p><p>              He nodded. “I just wanted what was best for you.”        </p><p>              Molly locked her eyes on his, wanting to get her next words through his brilliant head. “<em>You</em> are what’s best for me.”</p><p>              Her words took him by surprise. Sherlock wondered if she was right. He really was too critical of himself. “I’d say sorry for wrecking your engagement plans, but…”</p><p>              She laughed. “Sherlock Holmes, you can wreck my plans any time you like.”</p><p>              He gathered her in his arms, holding her close to him, leaning his head against hers. “Stay with me?”</p><p>              Molly snuggled up against him. “I thought you’d never ask.”</p><hr/><p>              As she readied herself for bed, Molly had trouble processing all that had happened in the last few hours. That shell of a person she had been for so long disappeared. She didn’t recognise that girl anymore. Looking at herself in the mirror, her hair wild from having his fingers in it and her lips slightly swollen from his kisses, she realised she didn’t recognise this version of herself either. But she did find she preferred herself this way. Molly felt braver, happier. Her eyes held a sparkle that lit up her entire face.   </p><p>              She dug through her bag in search of pajamas, her face flushing when she realised all she had with her were two nightdresses. One was cotton and long in a t-shirt style and the other a small mass of light pink satin with black lace trim, and a cheeky slit on each side. Her fingers immediately grabbed the cotton one, but she made no further move to change. Molly took a deep breath. <em>No more fear</em>.   </p><hr/><p>              Sherlock lounged back against his pillows not quite certain he wasn’t dreaming. He felt nervous all of a sudden, though he hadn’t a clue why. It wasn’t as if they hadn’t shared a bed before, but then again, there would no longer be anything separating them. He’d be able to hold her if he wanted to. The thought overwhelmed him, making his heart ache with all the love he felt for her. This was why he had always repressed his emotions—it was too much for him to handle.</p><p>              But this was Molly. She knew him better than anyone. If anyone understood, it would be her. The thought calmed him considerably. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of. She loved him unconditionally. And she taught him how to love unconditionally—taught him how to love her. It would be okay. He knew she’d make sure of it. No longer did he only trust her with his life, but he now trusted her with his heart which began beating wildly again when she walked into the bedroom wearing a lovely combination of satin and lace, her hair falling over her shoulders.</p><p>              “I—I can change,” she told him, beginning to lose her confidence. “It was either this or—“</p><p>              Sherlock shook his head. It hadn’t occurred to him she’d be nervous too. “You’re beautiful, Molly.” He lifted the duvet for her and she hesitantly slipped in beside him, into his arms. He pulled her close against him, their noses touching. “That wasn’t so scary was it?”</p><p>              “No,” she admitted with a smile, feeling silly for having been so afraid for no reason. Her fingers reached up to sift through his hair, twirling his onyx locks around. His hitched breath caught her attention and she removed her hand from his curls to cradle his face, her thumb lightly tracing his cheekbone. “Are you scared too?”</p><p>              Of course she’d pick up on it. Sherlock was relieved to know he didn’t always have to voice his thoughts or feelings. She just always knew. “Maybe a little,” he admitted reluctantly. “New territory and all. I’ve no experience in this area. I’ll muck things up eventually.”</p><p>              “Everybody mucks things up all the time. Do you think I have any idea what I’m doing?” she laughed. “We’ll be okay, I promise. It’s just a matter of learning our way together. I’m not saying that things won’t get difficult at times, but it’ll be okay, all the same.”</p><p>              Sherlock didn’t appear to be too convinced. “You really think so?”</p><p>              She smiled like she knew a secret he had yet to discover. “I know so.”</p><p>              Molly slid her hand to the back of his head and pulled him down gently, a warm touch of her lips, the tip of her tongue peeking out to part his. Molly placed her hand over his chest, feeling the beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She lightly touched her tongue with his, soon exploring his mouth. Goosebumps arose on her body when she felt his mouth leave hers to place kisses along her jaw, down her neck, her collarbone, the slight swell of her breasts. “Mmm, <em>Sherlock…</em>” Her toes curled against the sheets.</p><p><em>              This</em>, she thought. <em>This is how it feels to be truly loved</em>. Molly let out a happy sigh, feeling the warm trail of his kisses along the curve of her shoulder as he made his way back up, stopping to meet her eyes. “Hello,” he smiled, satisfied at her pleasure.</p><p>              “Hi,” she breathed out, definitely not regretting her choice in sleepwear. This was the man she loved, the man she chose for herself, and it thrilled her to know he chose to love her too. Molly struggled to keep her eyes open, batting her lashes sleepily.</p><p>              Sherlock settled himself on his back and she settled her head on his chest, an arm thrown over his stomach. He held her tight, never wanting to let her go again, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Sleep well, darling.”</p><p>              It was the last thing she heard before drifting off comfortably in his arms.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TOGETHER AT LAST!! So...was the reunion worth the wait? 4 more chapters to come! I promise nothing is going to go wrong lol!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. life was a willow...</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                Molly woke with the sunrise, her vision slightly blurred as she opened her eyes. It nearly surprised her to wake up in 221B, Sherlock still in a deep sleep beside her. She carefully sat up making sure not to jostle the bed too much. Before slipping away, she leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. Looking around, she spotted his blue dressing gown and put it over her nightie, tying the belt tightly enough to feel snug. On the dresser there was an open parcel, and she peered inside with a smile. Somehow, she knew he wouldn’t wait until Christmas to open it. Mrs. Hudson had probably put him up to it.</p><p>                She crept out of the bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind her, and ventured to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. It was much less chaotic in here than usual, almost as if he had scrubbed the place clean. He still had science equipment on the table, but they had been cleaned too. Once she got the coffee started, Molly decided to peruse the bookshelves. Never before did she have free reign of his flat, and one thing that always enticed her was the reading material he kept.</p><p>                “The Dynamics of Combustion,” she said to herself, pulling out the book to leaf through it. The author was an M.L. Holmes. There was no doubt of it being a familial connection, and she happened to be correct. Once she reached the back cover, a photo of Sherlock’s mother was revealed. Molly barely knew the woman, but had met her once when Mycroft had called her in for a chat after Sherlock had left London.</p><p>                Sliding the book back in place, she looked through the other titles, smiling when she noticed the book on beekeeping she had gotten him two Christmases ago. It was a binder on the top shelf that caught her eye. She pulled it down and moved to sit in his chair. A gasp escaped her when she realised what treasures it held. There, in chronological order, was every paper, article, and results from studies she had conducted preserved in sheet protectors, including her most recent one. They dated back to two years before they had ever met. Tears threatened to spill over at the overwhelming emotions swirling inside her.</p><p>                “They’re all brilliant.” Sherlock stood at the end of the short hall that led to his bedroom.</p><p>                Molly looked up at him, biting her lip. “I can’t believe you kept them all. I thought sentiment wasn’t your thing.”</p><p>                He shook his head as he closed the gap between them, now standing in front of her. “Molly Hooper, I’m disappointed. You know me better than that. And in the less than twenty-four hours you’ve been here, you claimed my dressing gown, my chair, and went through my books.”</p><p>                The cheeky grin he gave her had her laughing so hard, her tears fell anyways. “I did make coffee,” she offered sweetly.</p><p>                Sherlock bent down and met her lips with a firm, chaste kiss. “I think I’ll keep you around.” He moved into the kitchen to pour them both a cup; two sugars for him, three for her.  </p><p>                As she put away the binder, Molly jumped when the door opened.</p><p>                “Hoo hoo,” Mrs. Hudson chimed. “Happy Christmas, Sherlock! I made up some biscuits for…you? Molly! Is that you, dear?”</p><p>                She gave a nervous wave. “Hi! Happy Christmas!”</p><p>                “Ah, Hudders,” Sherlock greeted her as he handed Molly her cup of coffee. “It is a Happy Christmas isn’t it?” He accepted the plate of fresh biscuits and offered one to Molly before setting it on the desk.</p><p>                “It seems so,” she winked.</p><p>                “Thank you for the biscuits,” Molly told her, still nibbling on the one she took.</p><p>                Mrs. Hudson gave her a warm smile. “Not a problem, dear! You two have a nice morning!” She gave one last wave as she left, closing the door behind her.</p><p>                Sherlock turned at the sound of Molly’s giggle. “What’s so funny?”</p><p>                “I nearly forgot it was Christmas,” she laughed, settling into the chair opposite his. “After everything else that happened, it didn’t really register.”</p><p>                His eyes glanced toward the small gift bag on top of his desk. He nearly forgot too. Setting down his coffee, Sherlock took the bag and offered it to Molly. “My wrapping skills are absolute rubbish, so I hope this suffices.”</p><p>                She looked up at him, her eyes alight with wonderment. Molly placed her cup down on the small side table and accepted the gift. The first thing she pulled out was a small blue velvet box. “Oh,” she sighed happily when she opened it, “it’s lovely.” The golden honeybee necklace glinted in the light streaming in from the windows. It took her no time to clasp it around her neck.</p><p>                Sherlock let out the breath he felt he’d been holding for ages. “I hoped you’d like it.”</p><p>                “I love it,” she assured him, pulling out the second item. It was a clear jewel case with a disc inside. On it, written in his hand, were the words ‘<em>For My Heart</em>.’</p><p>                This was the one thing he had been the most nervous about. Granted, he didn’t think he’d be in her presence when she listened to it. Only curiosity shone on her face. “It’s a recording. I, uh, composed something for you. Well, it’s about you, anyways.”</p><p>                “Play it for me?”</p><p>                He went to retrieve the disc, but Molly shook her head. “On your violin, silly. I love it when you play.”</p><p>                There was a flicker of a smile on his face. “You do?”</p><p>                She nodded her head with enthusiasm. “Mhm!”</p><p>                This gave him the encouragement he needed. Sherlock picked up his violin out of the case, checked to see if it was in tune, and began sliding the bow across the strings.</p><p>                Molly didn’t take her eyes off him as he lost himself in the music. The notes he played were achingly beautiful—she could feel his pain, the wistful pining of his broken heart. It nearly killed her to know how much she had hurt him, though completely unintentional. Her cheeks now stained with tears, Molly listened as the music morphed into something softer, tender. The deftly woven notes wafted through the air, enveloping her in his emotions. It was a rare look inside his heart, so direct that it overwhelmed her own. She wiped at her eyes, her attention never straying, and once the music came to a close, Molly gave him a standing ovation.</p><p>                “Sherlock, that was beautiful,” she cried, closing the space between them. She removed the instrument from his hands, setting it gently down in his chair, and rose up on her toes to kiss him, her arms wrapping around his torso. “I love you,” she whispered against his lips, the tip of her nose brushing his.      </p><p>                He closed his eyes as she spoke those three words. Sherlock knew he’d never tire of hearing them. “And I love you,” he told her softly, fingers gently brushing through her hair. “Always.”</p><hr/><p>                After lunch, Molly dug through her bag for something decent to wear, but it was not to be. She sighed, knowing she’d have to go back to—</p><p>                “Are you okay?” Sherlock asked, sensing her discomfort.</p><p>                “I need to raid my closet it seems,” she replied. “Is it weird that I don’t want to go back there right now?”</p><p>                He knelt to the ground beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s not. Molly, I’m sorry. In all the excitement, I forgot to ask about what happened. Do you need to talk about it?”</p><p>                She shook her head. “No, not really. It was just I realised I had been lying to myself and that I wasn’t happy. It was all very cut and dry.”</p><p>                “Would you like to stay here until he gets his things out?” he offered.</p><p>                Molly sighed in relief. “I would, thank you.”</p><p>                He stood, reaching a hand down to help her up. “Come on, I’ll go with you and help you pack up some things.”</p><p>                “I don’t think it’ll be happening today,” she told him, walking towards the window. He followed after her to see what the problem was. The roads looked treacherous, snow and ice covering the ground.</p><p>                “Well,” he spoke in a low voice, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, “it’s not so bad, staying in.” Lips pressed to her neck, tip of his tongue tracing his path, he held her tight against him as she dropped her head back against him.</p><p>                “Mmmm.” Molly closed her eyes, relishing in the feel of his kisses, his breath hot against her skin. She felt his fingers working the belt of the dressing gown until it came free and he slid the offending article off her. Turning around in his arms, Molly placed a hand where his heart resided, sliding it down until her fingers found the hem of his shirt. Her eyes asked the question he wanted to answer yes to. Silent permission given, she helped divest him of it, running her fingers over his chest, leaving chill bumps in their wake.</p><p>                Sherlock stiffened his posture when she moved around him, his scarred back exposed to her. He felt her fingers trace each one whilst leaving kisses between his shoulder blades. It hadn’t deterred her. This relaxed him, giving in to her touch. The next thing he knew, she had taken his hand and led him into his bedroom, shutting the door behind them.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aren't they just the cutest?? I was so excited about writing them being together!! </p><p>Just a head's up, the next chapter is the reason for the rating. I will put those scenes in block quotes so those of you who aren't big on those scenes can skip over them to read the other parts of the chapter.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. ...and it bent right to your wind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>If you want to skip the steamy scenes, I have those in blockquotes so it’s easy to scroll past.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>                “Ohhhh!” Molly grabbed at the duvet, her head thrown back as Sherlock buried his between her thighs. His fingers, his lips, his tongue—it was like heaven. Never had she felt so cherished, so loved. It didn’t take long before his ministrations brought her over the edge, her legs shaking from the intensity of it. “Sherlock…”</p>
  <p>                He ran his fingers down her sides and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. Molly giggled, cursing herself for being so ticklish. He looked up, a mischievous smirk on his face. She prepared herself for the onslaught, but instead he crawled up her body, hovering above her. He found her hands, interlocking their fingers together, pressing them into the pillow her head laid upon. Sherlock sprinkled her face with kisses—her lips, her cheeks, the corners of her eyes. He lowered his head to kiss her neck and tilted it to capture the spot just below her ear. “My Molly,” he whispered.</p>
  <p>                “Mmm,” she sounded in reply, turning her head to steal a kiss from him. “My Sherlock…I love you.”</p>
  <p>                He smiled against her skin. “I love you too.” After releasing her hands from his, Molly reached down between them, causing him to groan at her touch. He moaned deliciously in her ear, unable to catch his breath. His eyes pleaded with her to stop before it was too late, and she reluctantly let him go. Sherlock felt her legs wrap around his waist, fidgeting beneath him. He chuckled. “Impatient, are we?” And he pressed his lips to the swell of her breast, trailing further, tracing his path with the tip of his tongue, until—</p>
  <p>                “Yes,” she sighed, burying her fingers in his curls. “Sherlock, <em>please</em>.” Finally listening to her plea, he brought his head back up to nuzzle her nose with his, pressing into her. Her back arched and he groaned, his face resting in the crook of her neck.</p>
  <p>                Sherlock was overwhelmed with sensation, emotions. His heart ached with how much he loved her. “Finally,” he muttered.</p>
  <p>                Molly laughed. “Finally.” She ran her fingers down his back, lightly tracing his scars as they moved together. She pressed soft kisses to his shoulder, eliciting a low moan from him that sounded like music to her ears. She whimpered as he picked up the pace.</p>
  <p>                “Good?” he found himself asking breathlessly.</p>
  <p>                “Oh, so good, my love,” she answered in a sigh, hardly able to make conversation at this point. “Nearly…mmm!“</p>
  <p>                Sherlock swallowed her moans with a fervent kiss, the velvet slide of their tongues being the catalyst for their shared crescendo. He opened his eyes, breaking the kiss, and pressed his forehead to hers.</p>
</blockquote><p>                         Molly noted, past the desire in his eyes, that his mind seemed to be reeling. “Are you okay? Was it too much?”</p><p>                         His crooked smile sent her heart aflutter. “Not too much. Never too much.” In fact, he’d never been better. All the times he had imagined—it didn’t come close to the real thing. The woman he loved also loved him. She wanted him. She chose him. Carefully, he moved over her to reach his side of the bed, pulling her against him in his arms, chest to chest, their legs intertwined.</p><p>                         Her eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. “S’good,” she mumbled. Molly trailed slow, languid kisses along his neck, his jaw, her next words coming out in a whisper. “So happy.”</p><p>                         “Me too, darling” he replied, fighting off his own exhaustion. Soon enough, sleep came to them both. Neither would wake up until evening.</p><hr/><p>                         It was the chills that arose on his skin that woke him. When his eyes adjusted to the dark room, he was able to see Molly, still deeply asleep, her hair fanned out over the pillow. Sherlock hugged her to him, careful not to wake her. Another chill came over him and she shivered in his arms. “I’ll be right back,” he whispered. He slipped out of bed and covered her snugly with the duvet. After pulling on his dressing gown, he made his way into the sitting room to get a fire going. Just as the fire started to blaze, Molly appeared and went to sit beside him on the floor in front of the fireplace, wrapped up in the top sheet of his bed.</p><p>                         “Hey you,” she greeted him. “I was wondering where you went off to.”</p><p>                         He turned to look at her, a low laugh escaping when he noticed the bed sheet. “I do have other dressing gowns.”</p><p>                         She shrugged playfully. “This’ll do.” Molly brushed at his curls with a gentle touch. They were wild, unkempt. She adored it.</p><p>                         “I didn’t wake you, did I?” he asked, leaning into her touch, his eyes shut.</p><p>                         “No,” she answered, “I got cold. Couldn’t find you, but I heard the fire crackling, so…” They sat in comfortable silence as she continued carding her fingers through his hair. “What are you thinking so hard about?”</p><p>                         Sherlock turned to her and she dropped her hands to her lap. He took one in his and brought it up to his lips. “All the time I wasted. I should have just told you how I felt.”</p><p>                         Molly sighed. “Oh, Sherlock, there’s no reason to dwell on it. What’s important is we’re together now. Besides, I wasted time too. I could have just as easily told myself to get a grip. It’ll do no good to let it haunt us.”</p><p>                         “I suppose you’re right.”</p><p>                         “Only suppose?” she teased. “You know what we could do?” </p><p>                         “Hm?” he furrowed his brows.</p><p>                         Molly leaned in, her lips just barely touching his. “Make up for lost time.”</p><p>                         He closed the space between them, feeling time stop when his lips met hers. Soft, supple, warm. And then she opened up to him, deepening the kiss, teasing him with her tongue. Sherlock wrapped his arms around her, bringing her closer, his senses unfurling. The taste of her silenced all of his doubts and rampaging thoughts. He could feel his desire stirring, and when Molly whimpered against his mouth, he knew she could feel it too.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>                Her fingers made quick work of the belt on his dressing gown and she pushed it off his shoulders. She broke the kiss to explore him—every freckle, crevice, and scar—encouraging him to lie back as she worked. Lips pressed just below his hip bone, she smiled against his skin at his reaction. “<em>Oh</em>, Molly…” Her heart fluttered. She loved him so much. That’s what went through her head as she briefly took him in her mouth, just enough to drive him wild. She loved how he didn’t hold back from her, how vocal he was at her touch. Molly climbed her way back up to kiss him, sitting astride his hips, and slowly enveloped him. He felt her love wash over him in warm waves, crashing into him over and over again.</p>
  <p>                Sherlock had spent the last few weeks with his heart in jagged, shattered pieces, and with every touch, every kiss, she put him back together again. He only hoped he was doing the same for her. She hungrily claimed his mouth, her whispered words lingering in his head, telling him that she loved him and she always had and she always will. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other resting on the small of her back. His gasps and groans were quieted by her kisses, and soon her forehead rested against his, their breathing ragged as one last growing wave overtook them, bringing them safely back to shore again.</p>
</blockquote><p>                         Molly let out a content sigh, resting her head against his shoulder. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck as he pulled the sheet up over them. His fingers brushed through her cascading tresses, keeping it out of her eyes.</p><p>                         “Think we’ll ever get tired of it?” Sherlock asked, humour in his tone</p><p>                         “Mm, never,” she murmured, knowing she never would, but would he? And there it was, crawling, creeping, back in her mind. Her old fears took over with no mercy. What if he realised he didn’t want this? What if being in his life like this interfered with the work he loved so much? Would he resent her? Would he— Molly hadn’t realised she was crying until his voice brought her back from the grave she was digging herself into. </p><p>                         “Hey,” he said softly, “Molly, what’s wrong?”</p><p>                         She shook her head, not wanting to voice it into reality. It was a silly notion, but she was afraid that this was all they’d have, and once regular life began again, it would all slip away.</p><p>                         “I could try to spend time deducing it, but I’d much rather you tell me,” he told her, attempting to encourage her to open up to him. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you. You’ll always have me, remember?”</p><p>                         Molly half-laughed, half-sobbed at the reminder of their promise to one another, and it helped her get the words out. “I’m scared you’ll wake up one day and realise you don’t want this, that you don’t want me. And I don’t want you to resent me if, somehow, I end up interfering with your work. It’s why you don’t do relationships, right?”</p><p>                         He held her tight, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Please believe me when I say that I will always want you with me. Yes, I once thought romantic entanglements were a waste of time. They were fulfilling for others, but I saw no need for it. And you know what happened?” He felt the slight shake of her head. “I fell in love with you. I realised how much I needed you. I only fought against it because I spent so long thinking I wasn’t good enough. On top of all that, you could never interfere with my work. You’re a big part of it, you know. Even if you weren’t, I’d still want you.”</p><p>                         “I feel a bit silly now,” she admitted with a laugh. “And Sherlock?”</p><p>                         “Hm?”</p><p>                         “There’s no one else that deserves me more than you.” She kissed him softly.</p><p>                         He kissed her back. “I’ll try to keep that in mind.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I hope it was well worth the wait!! I'm personally more than satisfied with how it turned out, so hopefully y'all are too! xx</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. lost in your current</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                 “Good morning.” Sherlock’s baritone greeted her as she woke. He watched as she blinked up at him sleepily, gazing at him with that sparkle in her eyes.</p><p>                 Molly snuggled herself in closer, lifting her head to kiss him hello. “Morning. Sleep well?”</p><p>                 “I did,” he smiled. “I see you did too. Do you want breakfast? I can cook up some eggs.” Sherlock gently rubbed her back, leaving goosebumps on her skin.</p><p>                 She nodded. “Eggs sound good. Thank you, love.”</p><p>                 He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Okay, I’ll get started on them.” Sherlock slipped out of bed and threw on his tartan dressing gown, leaving the blue one for Molly. He bent down to kiss her lips and drew the duvet around her to keep her from getting chilled.</p><p>                 Molly sighed happily, burrowing into the covers. He was so good to her, it made her heart soar. Briefly, she thought about staying in bed, too comfortable to move, but she soon threw off the duvet and donned the dressing gown he left for her. Quietly, she crept out to the kitchen, his back turned towards her as he cooked. She wrapped her arms around him, leaning her head against his shoulder blade. His free hand covered one of hers, squeezing it lightly.</p><p>                 Sherlock melted into her embrace, warm and inviting. The silence was comfortable and calming. He could now easily squash the voice in his head that scoffed at sentiment. Opening up to Molly, letting her in and becoming hers entirely, was the best choice he had ever made. He was right all those years ago: domestic bliss did suit her very well, but it also suited him. Sherlock knew he wouldn’t give it up for anything. He would always love her, protect her, cherish her. He felt colder when she slipped away to seat herself at the table.</p><p>                 The lab equipment had been moved to one end so they had room to eat. Sherlock set her plate in front of her and went back for his own before seating himself across the table. She smiled at him as she took her first bite, brushing the side of her foot against his leg affectionately. “Looks like we’ll be able to get to your flat today,” he told her. “We could leave around noon.”</p><p>                 “Sounds good,” she replied. “I’ll have to shower first.”</p><p>                 He had a mischievous glint in his eye. He lowered his voice an octave, purposefully trying to get a reaction from her. “Care if I join you?” Sherlock smirked when he heard the hitch in her breath.</p><p>                 Molly shook her head in amusement. “As nice as that sounds, I actually want to get clean.”</p><p>                 “I’ll be good, Molly,” he told her, using those puppy dog eyes on her. “Please? I’ll wash your hair for you.” Sherlock craved the closeness and intimacy he had with her, wanting to spend as much time together as possible before they had to return to the real world. She’d be going back to work tomorrow and he had a few cases lined up that he was surprisingly glad to have put on hold for her.           </p><p>                 “Well, I was going to say yes anyways, but…since you offered,” she winked playfully, looking forward to it, herself.</p><hr/><p>                The snow and ice on the roads had finally been cleared enough for normal traffic to resume. The quiet had been nice whilst it lasted. Showered and refreshed, they got ready to leave for Molly’s flat. She had made sure to get a load of wash going for clean clothes and clean sheets. A cab waited for them outside, and with a protective hand at the small of her back, they made their way downstairs. Sherlock helped her inside and slid in after her.</p><p>                The ride was mostly silent with the exception of the radio. Wham!’s “Last Christmas” came on and he smiled when his ears picked up Molly’s quiet singing. <em>She has a lovely voice</em>, he thought, wondering if they could ever do a lyrical piece, his violin accompanying her. He didn’t want to take his eyes off her, nor could he stop touching her. Sherlock slid his fingers in between hers and she squeezed his hand, looking up at him with a smile.</p><p>                When they arrived, Sherlock offered extra to the cabbie if he waited for them. Molly wasted no time gathering a couple of bags of clothes and undergarments. He had offered to help, but she only waved him off, letting him know she’s got it. A black dress was tossed aside all whilst she muttered something about donating it. Curious, Sherlock took it in his hands to take a look at it. He recognised it on the spot.</p><p>                “You sure you don’t want to keep this one?” he asked, the straps still hanging from his fingers.</p><p>                Molly turned back towards him. “Why? Did—do you like it?” To her surprise, a blush crept up his face.</p><p>                “I, uh”—he cleared his throat—“I was an arse that Christmas, Molly. I thought you looked beautiful. That’s not to say you don’t always look beautiful, because you are, and—“</p><p>                She laughed. “You’re cute when you ramble.”</p><p>                “Well, I’m glad you find my discomfort amusing,” he teased, giving her a woeful pout to boot.</p><p>                Molly rolled her eyes playfully. “If you want me to keep it, I’ll keep it.” He tossed it over to her and she packed it. Knowing him, he’d probably take her somewhere posh just so she had a place to wear it. She got up to pack a few extra toiletries just in case. Whilst she did so, Sherlock wandered off to God knows where. The man really couldn’t sit still.</p><p>                In the sitting room, Sherlock perused through Molly’s bookshelves that were decorated with photos with family when she was a child and photos of her with friends. He noticed one of her and Mary at the café near Bart’s, one with Meena in a pub, and—he picked up the frame—one with the two of them in the morgue, both laughing at the joke he had made. Sherlock thought back on who could have taken the photo. Greg had been there that day, and most likely was the culprit.</p><p>                “Shall we take that too?” Molly approached him, wrapping her arms around him from the side. “Greg gave it to me after—well, after you left London. Thought I’d like to have it.” She lifted it out of his hand and stuck it in one of her bags. “Aside from getting Toby from my neighbor, I think that’s everything I’ll need. Ready?”</p><p>                He took one more look around as he shouldered one of her bags. Leaning down, Sherlock pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Ready.”</p><hr/><p>                John shook his head at his fiancée. “I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, Mary. Knowing Sherlock, he’s probably working on a case and all this food will go to waste.”</p><p>                “Even so,” she argued, “it’s still nice for him to know someone was thinking of him.” They had brought over leftovers from Christmas dinner at her behest. Pleased that the fridge was clear of experiments and/or body parts, Mary began to store the food when the sound of laughter and half-hushed conversation drifted up the stairs. “Is that…” she gasped, recognising Molly’s voice.</p><p>                She and John moved to the sitting room to see for themselves. The door opened, neither of them quite paying attention to the fact they weren’t alone, each with a packed bag on their shoulders, Toby in his carrier in Molly’s hand.</p><p>                “…don’t you think?” Molly asked, her eyes sparkling as she looked up at Sherlock.</p><p>                He leaned down and brushed his lips across hers. “Mmm, I think it could work.” Stealing another kiss, he took the other bag from her.</p><p>                John cleared his throat, startling the two of them.</p><p>                Sherlock groaned in frustration, just wanting more alone time with Molly. He had hoped they would have a couple of days before everyone would be coming ‘round again.</p><p>                “Well, I see you two have had a nice holiday,” Mary smirked. She was ever so happy to see them together. “The ring was a bad fit?”</p><p>                Molly giggled. “You could say that. This one’s just right.” She nodded towards Sherlock who grinned at her remark with pride.</p><p>                “So…when’d all this happen?” John wondered aloud.</p><p>                They answered in unison. “Christmas Eve.”</p><p>                Sherlock took over from there. “It was all rather fast after that.” He dropped the bags on the sofa and Molly gently set the carrier on the floor, opening the door for him to leave it when he woke. ”Well, it was lovely to see you, but perhaps you should be leaving now.” He winced when Molly elbowed him in the ribs. “Sorry.” The ashamed look on his face had Mary giggling.</p><p>                “We just came over to bring some leftovers. John insisted it was too much, but apparently, my intuition is still sharp as a tack,” Mary explained with a smug smile. “For the record, I knew this was going to happen eventually.”</p><p>                “It’s true,” Molly confirmed, turning to Sherlock. “When we first met and you were talking with the press, she knew I was having second thoughts before I ever realised it.”</p><p>                Impressed, he raised his brows. “Well, thank you for the food. We’ll need the sustenance—ow!” Molly had elbowed him again, too roughly that time.</p><p>                “Sorry,” she said sheepishly. In a low voice she added, “I’ll make it up to you later.” Turning to John and Mary, Molly went to hug them both. “Thank you for the delicious food! It was very kind of you!”</p><p>                Mary laughed. “Don’t call it delicious until you’ve tasted it!” She nodded towards the door. “Well, we’ll get out of your hair. You two have a lovely boxing day!”</p><p>                As soon as the door shut, Sherlock eagerly wrapped his arms around Molly. “I thought they’d never leave,” he murmured as he nuzzled her neck.</p><p>                “You’re incorrigible!” she giggled, nearly giving in when he turned his attentions to the spot below her ear. “Mm…no, I’m starving.”</p><p>                “So am I,” he spoke in a low, sultry voice. There was no keeping his laughter at bay when she playfully swatted at him. “Come on, let’s eat.”</p><hr/><p>                Mycroft Holmes sat back in his chair, his mobile up to his ear. “Is that so?” He managed a smile of satisfaction. “Very good, thank you.”</p><p>                “Who was that, then?” Anthea asked.</p><p>                “That, my dear, was Mary Morstan,” he replied. “Apparently, Miss Hooper has been staying with my brother for the holidays. They are, and I quote, ‘Basking in domestic bliss’. Good to know she left that brainless fiancé of hers. He wasn’t good enough for her, anyways.” Mycroft had a soft spot for Molly Hooper. She was like the sister he never had. Disturbing memories from long ago briefly appeared in his head, but he shook them away. He hoped his brother didn’t screw this up. But something told him all would be well, if not a little difficult. Overall, he was happy for them.</p><p>                With Anthea sorting files on the other side of his office, Mycroft wondered if he shouldn’t take a chance too. Perhaps he would.</p><hr/><p>                The fire popped and crackled, giving the room a warm glow. The small radio in the kitchen was turned to an oldies station playing music from some of the greats. Molly sat in the chair opposite Sherlock’s, Toby curled up on her lap. She could hear her love’s voice from within the bedroom as he spoke with Mycroft on the phone. At least he didn’t sound as irritated as he usually did when it came to his brother.</p><p>                She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment to process all that happened the past couple of days. Whatever she had imagined it being like with him, it didn’t compare to the reality of it. His love for her was all-consuming, a blaze in the dark. Had she known from the look on his face that day in the stairwell, Molly would have chosen him right then. Or maybe she would have still been in denial. Either way, that was the moment that led her to where she was now.</p><p>                He understood her. Her work fascinated him enough to collect and keep her published pieces. And now he’s promised to attend the symposium she’s speaking at in a few days. Sherlock cared for her and always took the time to make sure she was okay. Despite her engagement ending, Molly hadn’t felt much of anything about it other than relief, but he made sure to still check on her in case she was hurting over it. It was sweet of him.</p><p>                When Sherlock walked out, Toby leapt from her lap and went to greet him, nuzzling his head against his leg. In her amusement, she smiled brightly. Toby never took well to Tom, but he adored Sherlock. Obviously, another sure sign this was where she belonged. He bent to scratch the cat behind his ear and lightly nudged him away. “Not now, Toby.” The radio began playing Billie Holiday and Sherlock extended his arm out to Molly. “Care to dance?”</p><p>                “I’d love to,” she replied, placing her hand in his, allowing him to pull her up from the chair. He placed his other hand at the small of her back, and Molly leaned her head against his chest, following his lead. They had to be careful not to step on Toby who continued to wind himself around their legs. With no one paying him any attention, he went and curled up on Sherlock’s chair.</p><p>
  <em>Your eyes are blue, your kisses too</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I never knew what they could do</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t believe you’re in love with me</em>
</p><p>                He held her close, his head resting atop of hers. Sherlock, too, couldn’t believe that Molly was in love with him. His mind had been at war with his heart for so long, wondering whether to give up or to fight for her, and she came back to him in the end. Never had he seen her so happy, and it warmed his heart to know he was the reason. The fear he had felt dissipated. He felt his heart would be safe with her always. Sherlock lifted his head and she did the same, meeting his eyes. “Thank you,” he told her.</p><p>                Molly tilted her head to the side. “For what?”</p><p>                “For loving me,” he replied, kissing her on the cheek. Much like the last time they danced, he dipped her as the song came to a close, and instead of resisting like before, Sherlock pressed his lips to her neck softly before bringing her back upright.</p><p>                She rose up on her toes, their noses meeting, her fingers in his curls. “I never stopped.”</p><p>                And she kissed him deeply, slowly. His body felt electric at her touch, right down to his toes, melting into her. Sherlock’s thumb found its way underneath the hem of her blouse, and he rubbed circles into her skin just above her hip bone. He swept his tongue across her honey sweet lips for a taste. In between kisses, he tells her loves her, unable to keep himself from repeating the sentiment. The woman in his arms has turned him into a lovesick mess, but he finds he doesn’t care. She’s here, she’s his, and he’s hers. Always.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yeah, I may be dragging out the story too long, but this is purely self-indulgent fluff lol! If y'all enjoy it too, it's a win-win! Only one more chapter to go and I'm so excited for y'all to see how I envisioned the ending for this story! We have a bit of a time jump coming!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. now this is an open/shut case</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>THE FINAL CHAPTER! I decided to just drop it tonight cause I can and I wanted to lol! Once again, there is a two paragraph lovemaking scene in block quotes for easy skip-ability :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>May 18<sup>th</sup></strong>
</p><p>                The ceremony was beautiful, as was Sherlock’s best man speech. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the room. Molly thought the waltz he had composed for the newlyweds was just lovely. They had danced almost all night at the reception, thoroughly exhausting themselves. Now, however, they were stumbling into 221B after a long night, laughing and kissing as they stepped over the threshold. After giving him one last press of her lips, Molly plopped down on the sofa.</p><p>                “My feet are killing me,” she complained, slipping out of her heels and reaching forward to massage her arches.</p><p>                Sherlock took no time to kneel in front of her and take over, his fingers working out her knotted muscles. “But it was fun,” he added.</p><p>                She smiled in agreement. “It was! I can’t believe we—mmm!—haven’t passed out yet.” Molly relaxed into the cushions as he worked. It felt so nice. Now he was on the other foot, rubbing circles into the knot.</p><p>                He gazed at her in adoration, thinking back on the last few months. When Tom had moved out of her flat, Molly went back, of course, but somehow, Sherlock had managed to convince her to move in with him only two weeks later. The conversation that night was conjured right back up in his mind as if it had just happened.</p><hr/><p>                <em>It was late—nearly two in the morning—and Sherlock was at Molly’s door. He used his key to slip in silently, locking up behind him. Quietly, he made his way to her bedroom and stripped down to his boxers before getting into bed beside her. Like a gravitational pull, in her sleep, Molly searched for him with her hand, making contact with his stomach. From there she pulled herself closer, snuggling against his side. </em></p><p>
  <em>                This stirred up many emotions within his heart. Never did he feel so connected to another person. Never was another person so in tune with him. Sherlock stroked her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I love you,” he whispered.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Love you too,” she mumbled, only half-asleep now. You okay?”</em>
</p><p>                <em>He moved her hair away from her face, his fingertips lightly tickling her skin. “I am now. It’s hard to sleep without you, my heart. It isn’t home without you there.”</em></p><p>
  <em>                Molly lazily brushed her lips against his chest. “It’s hard for me to sleep without you too. If I hadn’t been so exhausted after work earlier, I’d probably be more awake. I was hoping you’d come over.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Sherlock hugged her to him. “Move in with me, Molly. Or if you’d rather, I’ll move in with you and keep 221B for work.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “We’ve only been together for a couple of weeks,” she laughed. Lifting her head so she could meet his eyes, Molly leaned in to steal a kiss. “Don’t you think that’s a little quick?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Do you?” he countered. “Darling, we’ve known each other far longer than most couples do before they move in. Look at John and Mary. Besides, I miss you far too much when we’re apart. I think we’ve been separated long enough.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                She had to admit, he had a point. Molly missed him too. Going back to living on her own after having stayed with him for the short while it took Tom to get his things out had her longing to come home to the cosy little flat. To him. Her flat held too many reminders of her ex-fiancé and the deep sadness she had felt whilst Sherlock was away. “Okay,” she told him. “I’ll move in with you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                His eyes lit up in the dark room. “You will?”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “Mhmm,” she smiled, capturing his lips with hers. Without warning he had flipped her over on her back, leaving her half-giggling, half-shrieking in surprise, and he hovered above her, his head bent at the perfect angle to trail kisses down her neck. His fingers traveled up underneath her t-shirt, tickling her sides, sending her into a fit of laughter. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                Sherlock nibbled at her earlobe playfully. “I love your laugh.” It was like music to his ears. He could hardly believe she agreed to move in. Hopefully, she’d be happy there with him. Despite that niggling voice of doubt, somehow, he knew she would be.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Finally in her pajamas, Molly worked on removing her makeup in the loo. She looked the good kind of exhausted where it was obvious she had been having too much fun to care. Just months ago she had looked in this very mirror with the realisation that she didn’t recognize the new version of herself. The beauty of being in love—real, true love—is that it makes you grow as a person. She was a changed woman and she loved who she had become. Of course she was still Molly—morbid jokes, unusual jumpers, sweet disposition—but she was stronger, happier, and also deeply in love with the man just inside the next room. She always had been. Even when they had rows, Molly loved him more and more with each passing day. Memories of their first fight were brought to the forefront of her mind.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>                It ended with her storming off to her office at work just as he was about to leave with Greg for a case. She knew she had overreacted due to her fears, but he had snapped at her, telling her she was distracting him in a fit of frustration. It hadn’t been an easy case. Every lead had been a dead end just as he thought he was getting closer to the answer. It was the first time she didn’t looked forward to going home. She was desperately trying to fight off the tears that threatened to spill over when Sherlock appeared in the doorway. He closed the distance between them and held her in arms as she cried. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that. Honeybee, I love you. I love you so much.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                "I love you too,” she cried. “I shouldn’t have overreacted like that.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                He pulled back just enough to see her tear-stained face, and wiped them away with his thumbs, cradling her head in his hands. “You did nothing wrong.” Sherlock leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips. “I promise I’ll make it up to you when you get home later, okay?” He smiled when she nodded and stole another kiss from him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                "Be safe,” she told him, reluctantly releasing him from her grasp. Sherlock took hold of her hand and squeezed it in assurance. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                And make it up to her he did. Molly came home to find takeaway from her favourite restaurant set out on the coffee table, a few candles lit for mood lighting, and one of her records spinning on the turntable. Sherlock greeted her with a warm kiss. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>                “I suppose it’s a bit cliché,” he joked. “But I thought you’d like it.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>                She laughed. “Maybe just a bit. I love it, though, thank you.”</em>
</p><p>
  <em>               Sherlock flashed her a loving smile. “You’re very welcome, darling.” </em>
</p><p>
  <em>              They ate, talked through his case together, and danced for a couple of songs until Sherlock made it clear he was intent on making love to her. He treated her like a goddess, the way he cared for her. “Maybe I should get mad at you more often,” she teased as they lay in the afterglow together, her index finger tracing letters on his skin.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>              He chuckled, pulling her close, and kissing her temple. “I love you too.”</em>
</p><hr/><p>              The memory made her smile. Molly brushed out the tangles in her hair with her fingers. The long day was beginning to catch up to her and nothing sounded more appealing than snuggling up to Sherlock. When she stepped out of the bathroom, her toes made contact with a slide from a microscope. In fact, there was a trail of slides that led her into the kitchen. Slowly, she approached the microscope that sat on the table, a voice in her head telling her to take a quick peek. She squinted an eye to get a good look and gasped softly at the dainty ring, a band of rose gold, a moonstone set in the center with a diamond set on each side of it. Just inside the band there was an inscription.</p><p>
  <em>you are my heart</em>
</p><p>              Molly lifted her head as she felt his hands wrap around her waist, his lips pressed to the spot below her ear. “Do you like it?” he asked softly. Another warm kiss.</p><p>              “Sherlock,” her voice cracked, thick with emotion. Molly turned around in his arms to face him. “It’s beautiful.”</p><p>              He slid his hands from her waist to take hers as he knelt down on one knee. “My darling, words cannot possibly convey how much I love you. Your love has saved me many times. You bring out the best in me. You make me want to be a better man not only for you, but for myself. I can’t begin to imagine where I’d be if I never had you in my life. Knowing what it felt like to lose you made me realise how much I needed you. I will always fight for you, for us. Molly Hooper, I want to be yours in every way. Would you consider making me your husband?”</p><p>              Overcome with emotion, Molly had a hard time getting the words out. Of course, was her immediate answer in her head, no reservations. Poor Sherlock must have taken her speechlessness as indecision.</p><p>              “I understand if it’s too soon. You can think on it. I just—I want you to know that this is what I want for us,” he explained. His nerves were on the fritz up until the moment she knelt down to face him directly.</p><p>              Molly slipped her hands out of his grasp and cupped his face. “Yes,” she choked out, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She watched as the uncertainty in his expression gave way to one of pure happiness, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled. “God, yes. I love you so much, Sherlock.” She kissed him slowly, licking his bottom lip before sliding her tongue against his. He soon sat himself fully on the floor and she crawled onto his lap, her legs wrapped around him. His soft sighs warmed her down to her toes.</p><p>              Sherlock gripped her hips, squeezing them affectionately as he met every brush of her lips. He groaned when she pulled back, but then she threw her arms around his neck and embraced him. He slid his hands to her back to hug her tightly. “You’ve just made me the happiest man to ever live.”</p><p>              She half-laughed, half-sobbed at his declaration. “Not as happy as you make me,” she challenged, pulling back.</p><p>              “Mm, we’ll just have to see about that,” he told her. “Get the ring for me?”</p><p>              Molly nodded and untangled herself from him to bring the ring to him. He took her hand and left feather-light kisses to her fingertips before sliding the ring on her finger where it would inevitably stay for the rest of her life. He stood now and kissed her deeply. “Mmmm—mmh!” she shrieked when he lifted her in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. Molly had a feeling she wouldn’t be done saying ‘yes’ to him anytime soon.</p><hr/><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>              “<em>Oh</em>! Yes!” she shouted in a fit of passion, her breathing uneven. His hands roamed over her skin, his touch burning her with the familiar fire of his love. With her fingers tangled in his curls, she brought his head down to meet his lips as he made her his, venturing deeper and deeper until she could no longer think straight. Molly was thoroughly convinced this man was made just for her as he teased her mouth with his tongue, eliciting soft sighs from her lips.</p>
  <p>              Sherlock groaned as she clenched around him, breaking their kiss. “<em>Molly</em>…” He looked down at the woman in his arms—his love, his heart—and only now finished processing the fact that she would one day be his wife. “Darling,” he called to her softly as they went over the edge together. A string of incoherent words escaped him as he clung to her, and with her hands drifting over his back, she encouraged him to rest against her for a moment.</p>
</blockquote><p>              Feeling so thoroughly sated, Molly hugged him to her, her fingers tracing patterns on his skin. “Sherlock?”</p><p>              “Hmm?” his voice was muffled against her neck.</p><p>              “Just then… did you ask me to marry you again?” she giggled.</p><p>              He hadn’t remembered saying anything intelligible, but maybe it had only been muffled to his ears. “I suppose I did,” he chuckled, pressing a lazy kiss to her neck. “Your answer hasn’t changed has it?”</p><p>              Molly lifted her left hand in the air to admire the ring, not quite believing it was real, herself. “Not a chance. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, Mister Holmes.”</p><p>              “Mmm,” he sounded, nuzzling her. “Molly Holmes. I think it has a nice ring to it…unless you don’t want my name for professional reasons.”</p><p>              It thrilled her to hear her soon-to-be name from his lips. “I want your name,” she confessed to him. “I could always hyphenate, but being Molly Holmes is more than enough for me.”</p><hr/><p>             As she lay in his arms, Molly reflected on how quickly her life turned around when she had finally realised how Sherlock felt about her, and how unhappy she had been with Tom. The truth, in this case, was all too simple—so simple, she had been blind to it. She smiled at him, noting how perfectly at ease he was whilst he slept. “I love you,” she whispered in the dark. With him is where she belonged, and she was ever so thankful he had come back to her safe and sound. He loved her in ways she had never been loved before. Sherlock was home for her, and he always would be for evermore.</p><hr/><p>
  
</p><p>Molly's Ring (right)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading this and leaving me so many kind words in the review box! I am so appreciative of it!! I want to say thank you to penelope1730 who beta'd only the first chapter to kinda help me figure out the tone that I was going for! And thank you to sherlollyandspoilers &amp; garudadreamsofrain for their endless support! Y'all are my biggest cheerleaders!</p><p>I'm very proud of this one and it means a lot that y'all took such an interest in it! xo</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The yearning is strong with this one. I hope y'all are ready to go on a (hopefully) 15 chapter ride. At least that's what I plan for lol! It's gonna be an angsty one, folks! Your reviews are equivalent to giving me cookies, which I really love :p</p></blockquote></div></div>
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